Crimson is the slow smolder of the cigar end I hold, <br />Gray is the ash that stiffens and covers all silent the fire. <br />(A great man I know is dead and while he lies in his coffin a gone flame I sit here in cumbering shadows and smoke and watch my thoughts come and go.)<br /><br />Carl Sandburg<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/crimson/
