FIRE LILY.
Behold her, single in the
field,
The rarest of them all
What a man should yield,
Be enough for your blistering
soul?
Burn the crude fervors of
the world
The ashes be your
strength
The wind that blows soft
and cold,
Merrily, carry your
wealth.
On the pyre though you be
dead,
Shall rise again.
The flames that you left
undead,
Shines on till thou art
born.
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