I read a poem, dry tinder in my hands
in ardent hope that it contains a flint
to strike obliquely on my ironstone mind
thus to create a spark to catch and treasure
to gently, gently blow to glowing ember
which nurtured in my kindling cognition
becomes a flickering flame of inspiration
which grows into another blazing poem
wherein others come to dip their tapers
And take away a flame of understanding
To light their own fires of erudition
And even when the verse has burnt to cinders
There may remain a fragile glowing charcoal
To keep and blow and turn to warming fire

Oli 14/01/07