Magic fire, in the hearth
Dance your golden flames.
Warm my senses and weave a tale,
Of love and victory.

Let me feel the heat,
Of your magic tongue;
Bring new language to my soul.
Let me sing–

The Firesong.

Tell me about the ancient palace,
built on the hill, long ago.
About the prince, on his gallant horse,
This royal lover of my soul.

Yes, let me believe that I am his;
A bride clothed in humility.
Soon my prince will return as foretold,
To take me to the royal place, lace-lined, with streets of gold.

Then the old cities,
with temples on the hills,
Will bow to him, as I stand beside,
As together we sing the Firesong!

Please bright flames, sooth my soul,
Burn away the pain,
Caress my agony, with your golden sting,
Make me sing the song of fame–


Let the music arise in me,
Cause my darkened eyes to see.
Burn bright in the hollow tomb,
Turn my doubt into belief.

Carry me quickly, with the wind,
Into the golden city.
Turn me from forsaken promises;
Turn my heart from doom.

Carry me quickly, for I am ready–

Firesong! Carry me from this darkened gloom.

© John A. Taylor, 2014, 1984

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