The small and burning sparks arose
From the crackling, embering wood
To dance for moments with the stars,
Their ancestral kin.
They burn out swifty, fading in
Black-slated skies which loom above.
Like fireflies or shooting stars,
They dance, they burn,
Then die thereof.
While conflagrations burn below
Doth gently—gently—do they go:
The eternal spark leaps from the coals
And lights anew sojourning souls.