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.
