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 Emilevich Mandelstam<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-flame-is-in-my-blood-2/
