Hestia

In the centre of the room
under a roof made of straw.
The hearth – rages
in leaping song,
the flames loop and wind,
Wood and timber – consumed by the lips of hell,
An ageless tale of the gods,
Her face sheltered beneath gently fallen locks,
Lit by the fire; the colour of the flame,
Resting her cheek on the lap of love –
In the shadows of endless heart,
Tending to the threads of scarlet strings,
Twined for eternity to ancient ties,
With hands – warm and wandering,
Grasping at the throne,
Beside the fireplace darling Hestia dwells.

J.CALVERT 2016

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