The Eskimo
The Eskimo kept a fire at night,
Three huskies beneath its dying light.
They ran where the white winds swallowed the sun,
And brought back wood when the day was done.
They hunted the dark for meat and flame,
Returned with frost upon their mane.
The furnace drank what they could provide,
And warmed the man from the cold outside.
But winter grew teeth, and hunger grew deep,
The dogs grew tired, but would not sleep.
Each dawn they vanished into the white,
Each dusk returned a little less bright.
One morning, only two came home,
The next, one wandered the fields alone.
Then nothing came through the frozen door,
And the furnace burned no more.
The Eskimo sat where the ashes lay,
And watched the white consume the day.
Beneath the snow, where the last tracks ran,
A single ember remembered the man.