This morning, I glimpsed three little children,
They were burning with bright passion, as little children do,
I watched them for a while, and lamented a happy youth,
But beautiful they were, aglow with smiles on their faces,
It was as though they were of porcelain, made by a kind glass blower,
A soft glass lover, creating beauty out of sand,
Low and behold, there he is
Shaping the glass in the sun, he sits,
The glass blower and his glass children..
Beautiful in their ability to change,
So I watched them from afar, saw them burn, heard them break,
But the peices were melted, to create something new,
The glass blower, and his children reborn,
The phoenix and the flame
The creator, and those created..
And I, the creation's construct,
Was merely doomed to watch.
One of my drafts