A flame is in my blood <br />burning dry life, to the bone. <br />I do not sing of stone, <br />now, I sing of wood. <br /> <br />It is light and coarse: <br />made of a single spar, <br />the oak’s deep heart, <br />and the fisherman’s oar. <br /> <br />Drive them deep, the piles: <br />hammer them in tight, <br />around wooden Paradise, <br />where everything is light.<br /><br />Osip Mandelstam<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-flame-is-in-my-blood/
