To Frost Poem by Erica Brett

Turn me not to ashes,
For fire is no friend.
Flame may burn with passion,
But it brings too quick an end.

Flame may burn with passion,
But a breath will blow it cold.
Fire may be the spirit of youth,
But I would rather grow old.

I would rather grow old,
Than die in a flash of light;
I would rather be the dragon,
Than the heroic, defeated knight.

I would rather be the dragon,
Crouched upon my hoard,
Each moment a silver chalice,
Each year a jeweled sword.

Crouched upon my hoard,
Guarding time with flaming jealousy,
'Gainst hot blood thieves and their noble steeds,
Brave deeds doomed to memory.

Guarding time with flaming jealousy,
My passion to grow old,
Fire only is my friend
When it keeps me from the cold.