Ulyana

Is it peace or fame, that takes you higher, or keeps away the rage, shuffling out the gloom, chanting to the wind, who will fly to you, many come this way, they pester you for hire, ask and ask again, tell them what to do, their faces dire, bones forever blue, an offering to the highway, a burnt-out tyre, this is all you give, is any kindness due, replacing warm desire, what is left of virtue, if you play with fire?