Late summer fire,
Golden glow in shadowy relief,
Dances like a satyr to the pipes low tune.
Magic within its embers,
They speak of long ago whispers and revelry.
Spirits in the sparks,
Are they sparks or fireflies?
Enclosed by chilly air but burning and alive,
Flickering on the fingers of the wind ancient and conspiratorial.
Titania's maids tumble around the flames.
Summer nearly over but clinging to life till the last.
Photo Credit: Stock.Adobe.com
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