White roses hang over the fireplace, dripping, dripping,
Spitting, crackling fragments of flames into the wet air.
Each spark contains a memory that shines as a bright as a thousand stars.
Times laughing over games of Articulate as we imitate our friends and loved ones,
Clinking glasses of coke and lemonade and crying over silly jokes until our eyes fill with joy,
Playing football in the park until our legs tire and the sky turns to dark,
Riding bikes across cornfields as the moon twinkles a trail of glitter behind us,
And stroking lavender across the meadow as the butterflies and crickets sing.
While there are waterfalls, mountains, lakes where birds may soar so high, so far away,
I realise all I need to do is stay, and look into the fire at home and I could be anywhere.
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