This poem is written to be burned after reading,
It is for you, today, and after that it has to die.
If it fails to leave the trace of how I feel,
It didn’t deserve to live. And if I.
Could make these twelve lines self-destruct,
So mindful am I of the danger it creates;
And the meaning last forever,
I would ensure that once you’ve read it once,
It will ignite, with gentle flame, and light your room,
And warm your hands,
Then fade to nothing. Just a memory of warmth,
As we will become, somewhere in time.
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