Grown askew
Patched a few
Pricked by thistles
Thick in vine
Crawling out to see the light
Shivers at the break of night
Torn and hassled

Burnt, burnt

Wick is silent,
Witness none.
Crying out,
The deed is done.

Cold and conscious, lying still
Breathe in, breathe in.
Wisps that link the frozen ****
Deep and snowy candid gazes
Bursting flames,
Revealed in traces.
Chilled, chalk cold white touch
Remnants of  the old one's gruff.