All will be ash.

In the soft light of a winter's day,
Cloud wreathed and dimmed with
The dull silver of damp and chill,
The flames burn bright and clear
And I burn, but I am not consumed.
In the morning light with clear blue
Sky reflecting in the ice-rimmed water
Below, the trees along the loch are
Sunrise lit, and they burn
They burn but are not consumed.
And as the evening dims to night,
Blue velvet spreading its mantle over
A sleeping world, star studded
And backlit from the rising moon,
The calls of those who have gone
Before echo back from the embers
Of the fire, and they burn, they burn
But still they are not consumed.

(c) 2ndwitch, 11/02/17