Disclaimer: I got pwned by Cornelia Funke (she thought of Inkheart first!)


As the dishrag is rung,

The hearth swept,

And dinner's on the table,

Brightened by fire elves in tiny jars,

Picked precariously by my young toddler,

And water trickles

To the floor from the well bucket,

I long to see fire,

Bursting from his fingers,

Blossoming in the grass,

The familiar smell of smoke,

Billowing out from the forest canopy,

As the flames do a jig,

Dancing higher and higher,

I long to see spark,

Glinting as the rose of fire

Begins its way

Through the ferns.

I long to see the fire

Brought into my heart,

Then ten years ago

Taken to leave,

A pail of water,

Heavy, cold,

In its place.

Only an inkling left

Beneath the blue.