A flickering candle sings the truth
A dream, and yet a dream no longer,
Forged in iron, dust and soot,
We arise, renewed and stronger.

No more an artist drowned in rum,
Ideas flaming and skitting,
Pen tightly grasped between finger and thumb,
Nothing could be more fitting.

Assonance, metaphor, alliteration,
Writing a poem is like singing a song,
Bohemian, vagrant, no pride of the nation,
And yet you know it's for this life that you long.