There in the flame of the open grate, <br />All that is good in the past I see: <br />Red-lipped youth on the swinging gate, <br />Bright-eyed youth with its minstrelsy; <br />Girls and boys that I used to know, <br />Back in the days of Long Ago, <br />Troop before in the smoke and flame, <br />Chatter and sing, as the wild birds do. <br />Everyone I can call by name, <br />For the fire builds all of my youth anew. <br />Outside, people go stamping by, <br />Squeak of wheel on the evening air, <br />Stars and planets race through the sky, <br />Here are darkness and silence rare; <br />Only the flames in the open grate <br />Crackle and flare as they burn up hate, <br />Malice and envy and greed for gold, <br />Dancing, laughing my cares away; <br />I've forgotten that I am old, <br />Once again I'm a boy at play. <br />There in the flame of the open grate <br />Bright the pictures come and go; <br />Lovers swing on the garden gate, <br />Lovers kiss 'neath the mistletoe. <br />I've forgotten that I am old, <br />I've forgotten my story's told; <br />Whistling boy down the lane I stroll, <br />All untouched by the blows of fate, <br />Time turns back and I'm young of soul, <br />Dreaming there by the open grate.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-open-fire/
