First Fire

His charms? an art. Voice? Marv’ lous harp.

Eyes warm like stars: a hearth 

His gaze did carve a mark on parched, 

cold, starving, starkly darkness. 


It lit a spark inside my heart

That burned all day and night

enraptured by his blinding light

My passion, joy, delight


We sat and laughed in patch of grass

In awe of all we saw

He tightly grasped my hand, the lamb

All land began to thaw


So as I tracked life’s rambling path,

Its damning baffling cracks

Were paved by his frabjous gaze

My frazzled face relaxed


Gabriella Dansereau ’26, Staff Writer