Open fires, then, are mortal things

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Open fires, then, are mortal things

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Zeke. -
For fire, I’ve some sympathy For ice, some smaller kind For while mortals know the ways of heat Ice remains sublime. Ice twists and turns and tramples Kills - yet doesn’t die Lingers beyond fated dates Master of its time. Open fires, then, are mortal things They live - they kill - they die.