Whoever it was who brought the first wood and coal <br />To start the Fire, did his part well; <br />Not all wood takes to fire from a match, <br />Nor coal from wood before it’s burned to charcoal. <br />The wood and coal in question caught a flame <br />And flared up beautifully, touching the air <br />That takes a flame from anything. <br /> <br />Somehow the fire was furnaced, <br />And then the time was ripe for some to say, <br />“Right banking of the furnace saves the coal.” <br />I’ve seen them set to work, each in his way, <br />Though all with shovels and with ashes, <br />Never resting till the fire seemed most dead; <br />Whereupon they’d crawl in hooded night-caps <br />Contentedly to bed. Sometimes the fire left alone <br />Would die, but like as not spiced tongues <br />Remaining by the hardest on till day would flicker up, <br />Never strong, to anyone who cared to rake for them. <br />But roaring fires never have been made that way. <br />I’d like to tell those folks that one grand flare <br />Transferred to memory tissues of the air <br />Is worth a like, or, for dull minds that turn in gold, <br />All money ever saved by banking coal.<br /><br />Jean Toomer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/banking-coal/
