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Do not seek to make me
A log to heat your fireplace.
For even the stoutest log
Soon, becomes forgotten ash,
Consumed by the fires
Of its own zeal.
I shall not be your shadow,
To walk beside you
In the darkest of nights;
Only to be discarded
When light comes calling;
A hand never to be held.
I shall not be your cello
Only to make songs
At the whims of your fingers.
Does the cello not remain mute
Even if a thousand songs
Sprout in the soil of her strings?
If you shall have me,
Take me, heart and soul.
Let me build a fire inside you
As no shadow can.
Then shall we pluck us songs
On the strings of our hearts.
