Le Feu (The Fire) Poem by Julie Arnoult

In the storm of seraphs that fell from great heights,
In the winds that smoothed the fields of white;
His window was a lonely candlelight,
Warm and yellow that December night.

Beyond the frost on the icy panes he sat,
Before a crackling, dancing fire he sat.
That danced for him, for his lonesome gaze,
That danced for his timber and silent praise.

His tired eyes glowed with desperate desire,
As dry logs whistled and popped in the fire.
For the maiden that left him a winter ago,
For the girl whose eyes sparkled like virgin snow.

He sank in his seat, his mind in a trance,
Cringing in his robes, he watched her dance.
“No one, ” he said, “But my Cheri can replace,
This loving warmth that caresses my face.”

She leapt and spun, on the wood thrown and piled.
With a hint of seduction, she twirled and smiled.
“Forget the gone lover, tonight you are with me,
To delete, to erase what remains of she.”

Head in his hands, his throat closed tight,
As her flames still danced, inviting and bright.
His window was a lonely candlelight,
Warm and yellow that December night.