Her hands were tired creased with lines that ceased to feel and felt to find the things that warmed the skin and lit her fingers crimson.
Like when she was ten and hid a torch in her hand to feel the warmth of light, and marvel at the light inside.

But the batteries have died,
The light's burnt out.
Her hands have gone numb.

The heat of the dawn and she closes her eyes to the sun, (was the sky ever this bright?) She looks through closed eyes at the crimson gold and flecks of dust, and touches her cheeks.

Warmth, was always within.
And her her eyes try to cool the flame,
as her fingers tingle.