Standing back, feeling 'Heat'-so-'White.'
Move it not around the house, it's wood.
It lies above the floor, beneath the grate.
It is bright and red, bare to quench the fire.
Growing ever closer, dare the flame it's touch.
At first it's soft and then it's hot, I am insane.
e.d.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I am insane. ................................ it's... fine, / with smile / Happy New Year...