A match that's spent. A failed attempt. <br />I must find wood that's drier. <br />A puff of smoke. A flicker weak. <br />A flash! A flare! A fire! <br /> <br />The infant flames seem hesitant, <br />Unsure of what to do. <br />Then, shed their childhood innocence <br />And roar to heights anew. <br /> <br />Strange shadows dance around my feet <br />And sneak amongst the trees. <br />A sudden spark streaks to'rd the sky <br />Then settles near my knees. <br /> <br />Grey wisps of smoke curl round my head <br />Then fade into the night. <br />The pulsing coals, in brilliant red, <br />Are cubes of fierce delight. <br /> <br />The crackling logs disturb the night <br />With sudden sharp reply <br />To licking tongues of orange and red <br />That 'luminate the sky. <br /> <br />Then, are consumed by famished flames <br />That surge along their length, <br />Devouring in that searing heat <br />And sapping of their strength. <br /> <br />Soon, flames give way to glowing coals <br />That lie in reddened mass. <br />Then, as a yawn of sleep creeps o'er, <br />The coals are turned to ash.<br /><br />Lone Dog<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-campfire-2/
