The Old Fire Spot

She was your match

You dreamed of fire

And gave her a scratch

As sparks flew higher

But here’s the catch

All flames expire

The embers grow cold

And you feel the chill

Of no one to hold

Who gives you a thrill

Which makes you less bold

With a withering will

The days blur by

You live with your lot

No point to cry

You took your shot

So many things die

At the old fire spot.