11
Light My Fire
I wouldn’t mind setting you alight,
warming my cold hands on your burning body,
a nice fire going, till
you would be charred,
a rose in winter.
A church bell rings out over a white landscape
with soft rolling hills and stone fences.
Soon the ewes will be lambing, and all will be forgotten.
(Now is the night,
and tomorrow’s daybreak left
in a chariot of fire,
decaying.)
Oopsy 1958. Have been published, lucky me and or lucky them. Most editors told me to go away. A few asked for my work yes wow indeed.
