A sonnet by John Hearn.
In burning gas that heats its fuel to burn,
And so release the pent up light of days
Long past in coal, or just this summer's fern,
That strayed upon this earth in myriad ways
The heat and light that on our world was shed,
All takes its leave at last back to the sky,
As bodies burn the stuff on which they fed,
And autumn bonfires flame on branches dry.
So in the very furnace of our star,
Is made the stuff that gives us light and life,
And that we're not so close or not too far,
Is one more way we're balanced on a knife:
The joyful net of life that greens this earth,
Was willed in fire at creation's birth.
Lane Core Jr. CIW P Wed. 05/05/04 08:48:04 PM
Categorized as Literary.