THE PYRE by LOUISE S. BABER

I'm building one last bonfire friend,
'Twill measure to the yardstick's end;
I'm bringing from the attic grey,
Where dusty dreams were hid away --
Ambition, hope of great success,
Old wrongs, and cravings for redress,
Dreams of wealth and dreams of fame;
And throwing all into the flame.
I'm building slow to cremate here
The dross of many a passing year;
Selfish likes and fears of pain,
And jealousies of others' gain;
And the arrogance of willful youth
And all the cold hard facts of truth
I dare not look; the hurt's the same,
But blindly fling them in the flame.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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