The fire is hot in the winter chill,
some come for the heat, still others for thrill,
the hearth will grow with each new log,
a huddle of men, and a curious dog.
The flames fly as the log is melt,
and for each man the heat is felt.
Till the number of men will slowly grow
their poor escape of the horrid snow.
Fire is food, is life and strength
So cheap is a log that prolongs its length.
But what to that log, and more, the tree?
The fire is death, but we don't see.
The hearth grows stronger and brings men close,
but log after log is yet sent to the roast
The symbol of life is fed with death,
each flicker of flame is the wood's last breath.
Is the tree content with the men's hearty price?
Does each log understand its bold sacrifice?
The heat that simmers the cold night skin,
was born from a most murderous sin.
The men and the dog may be round the fire,
but what if one man was really the pyre?
'Fire is life' would hardly ring true,
We'd understand if we only knew.
So cheap is a log that prolongs its length.
But what to that log, and more, the tree?
The fire is death, but we don't see.
The hearth grows stronger and brings men close,
but log after log is yet sent to the roast
The symbol of life is fed with death,
each flicker of flame is the wood's last breath.
Is the tree content with the men's hearty price?
Does each log understand its bold sacrifice?
The heat that simmers the cold night skin,
was born from a most murderous sin.
The men and the dog may be round the fire,
but what if one man was really the pyre?
'Fire is life' would hardly ring true,
We'd understand if we only knew.
