Aflame Poem by Danny The Dreamer Boyd

I often scant this flame, I don't know why;
Perhaps I fear too much would let it burn
Forever, then in wicked winter's turn:
They'd wait in line beneath the coldest sky.
I wish I could but sit and watch it die,
Yet if I did, what else would you discern?
My whole existence is of no concern!
Then in my frozen bed I'd have to lie.
I hold within pitch blackness and a flame;
It's rather hard to let the latter show,
E'en harder when your winds ne'er cease to blow;
I only tried to make you warmer feel, —
Through which I haply set myself aflame! —
Yet you have always sought some heat ideal.