He rolled up a paper and chucked
it, watching the off-white turn
bronze and black and smoke and
leap flames.
In his eyes he saw a past, swirling up
on the ringlets of floating ash:
And this was history, and this was now;
a warm glow soon to be extinct -
a hope soon to be melted
in October's cold, cold showers.
And so can go things:
Friendships, loves and hope.
We all hold and tie the rope.
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