Burning, burning, ever bright
A soul born unto flame
Burning, burning, day and night
No words could give her name
Burning, burning, bright as the sun
The soul of fire and death
Burning, burning, the fiery one
Scorching earth with her breath
Burning, burning, as she flies
O’er the world of men
Burning, burning, in the skies
Til’ her name is found again
Burning, burning, the Angel of Fire
Long lost the Angel’s name
Burning, burning, as she soars ever higher
The soul born out of flame
A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself. E. M. Forster and this piece sure prove his point....indeed a great write sir
very fine poem, thanks, I invite you to read my poems and comment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Burning, burning, as she flies O’er the world of men Burning, burning, in the skies Til’ her name is found again .....wonderful writing my dear....