Bringing in the Firewood
 
Chimney smoke exactly as gray
As the sky to which it rises
Teases the aimless snow that falls
With endless compromises,
 
But that's the way it is, I suppose,
In love as in winter weather:
We mix and mingle, drift apart,
Drift back together;
 
Where two have melted into one
Love flies its fragile kite,
But I see signals of distress,
Bespeaking oversight;
 
I know where fire has melted ice
And lovers play a cheerful game,
I know one who sweats with shovel,
Freezes to feed the flame.
 
 
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