POEM Arthur Bentley
How brightly burnt the fire then,
In those carefree days of spring,
The world was our to concquer
Why care what the years might bring?
So, steadily burned the fire,
As the logs of life took hold,
Working towards our Dreaming
With sorrows and joys untold.
Too soon we see the embers,
Rose-pink with snow-white ash,
The colder breeze of evening
Stirs wisps of charred leaf trash.
But now, as we throw in the ends
Flames lift our hearts, or so it seems,
Bright sparks swirling reach the stars
And memories take the place of dreams.
AB