There must be a lesson here
That logs on fire can simply stop burning
We know the wood is burnable
Because it was burning
Yet, the flames die
The log is covered only in glowing embers
And then little by little
Those embers go from radiant orange to dull to grey
Until the last one is extinguished
And all that is left is the warmth that feels
Like a ghost or a memory
Hovering over ashen wood
Eventually, that goes, too
Leaving wood, charred, ashen
Cold.