In coals, low and tame,
dance the sparks spellbound,
just as moths to a flame.

Hear their dieing sound,
as embers speak low,
whispers, as death is found.

Rising from the glow,
serpentine, the smoke.
A slow, pungent flow.

The sky, it does stroke,
a lovers caress.
Hoping to invoke

The Goddess Pyralis