it lies entombed in fabric and stale air
the fire arms swaddled in cotton shields
scalding, the guilt, huddled and shining fair
the narrow, long weapon it finds it wields

disgust, at itself
set back on the shelf
dives back in the sea
of cloth Calliope

though arduous, the work to quench the flames’
thirst would fruit with cool, gentle blossomed rose
they wilt into an ugly, blackened shame
with scarlet spark still glowing ‘neath their throes

it found a better way-
let cooling comfort stay
fire cannot fight flame
and burn cannot beat blame