flame(s)

And every day the quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow
So on I went, though the dogs were spent, and the grub was getting low.
The trail was bad, and I felt half-mad, though I swore I would not give in.
I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge on Lake LaBarge, and a derelict there lay
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw with a trice it was called the “Alice May.”
I looked at it and I thought for a bit, then I looked at my frozen chum
And “Here” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that way lying around and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared, such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.


A little bit more of the poem - "The Cremation of Sam McGee" - one of my favorites!