6 o' clock

By 6 o' clock the day burns out

the central hearth the ashes flout

but where the cinders lie around

a hopeful phoenix starts to sound

enamoured by the glowing ground.

The fire's wrath is gently cooled

(unless this bird is greatly fooled)

and embers warm in Zephyrs play

the stars their nightly sparks display

amid the tatters of the day.

These stars those scattered flames reflect

(ought thousand magi these have trekked)

and phoenix bird from birth has crept

to Stella see all lunar-decked,

a silhouette, still golden flecked.

But as the evening settles in,

the golden cinders to grey begin

to turn: their memory grows dim.

But in the greying of their skin

tomorrow's bird begins to sing.

#Poetry #CreativeWriting #fire #nature