For shame, the flames that burnt so high
In the midst of the party and its black eye,
Have begun to squelch and to yield;
The guests are bored and dead on their battlefield.
So, smoldering, the host raises a toast over head, then slows,
And begins to rile and beguile the still crowd into wonder.
But so it goes, for heroes and foes, in the fragile flames of summer.
Monday, May 21, 2007
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