Blue winter's flame
Above the stove,
we lit a tender fire.
Swiftly, the pointed flames
shoot and shimmer.
Blue as winter's drear
outside the window,
There lies yonder
a cold, darkening world.
Yet I stay sheltered
by the smoke of tonight's soup:
red carrots and other soft vegetables,
heated by ringlets of
dancing ballerina blue fire
on the metal cook-top stage.
They feed our winter's warmth.
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