When the fire dies to ember, it is not dead
A series of gentle blows, will nurse it back to life
It withdraws into itself, hopeful, waiting for the day
It settles and lives for the feeble puffs that come its way
Igniting it just enough to stir a memory, the shadow of a glow
Then sink again into ashy craving
patient, warm, affectionate.
When your fire dies to ember, you may wait for the blow
But sometimes you don’t need the wind, in cascade or temperate flow
Just pay heed to what is around you, so much more can set you alight.
Perhaps you lie on a bed of dry leaves and don’t even realize
Or it lies not too far away, hoping you’d stretch an arm
Let loose a piece of ember, will you?
Let it roll some way
If the bed of leaves catches fire, the fire will engulf you too
