you've ignited a fire

deep within my soul

that once was a blue ember

now burns gold 

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Ritual

It is a grey morning

I am awake early

The backdoor is open

And cool air enters the kitchen

My father is on his knees

Scrubbing a wire brush

On the fire grate

Newspapers on the floor

He takes a rag

And pours black lead

Onto the stiffened fibres

Then he smears it

Onto the scrubbed surfaces

He balls up the newspaper

And throws it on the hearth

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