Sparked

Deep in an icy forest,

A fire pit was made.

Rocks and branches were placed,

And finally long sought dry leaves were laid.

A match is struck

And careless sparks flung.

The fire is burning bright.

The unstable fire is strong.

The fire rages in an unkind way

And soon the flame begins to flicker.

It is stoked occasionally,

But it remains uncertain and fickle.

Not even kindling can keep it going,

Soon it sputters, sputter, putter,

The ashes are left, and the rocks abandoned to cool,

It is finally extinguished, without a mutter.

Where those ashes lay in a disgraced pile,

A garden begins to flourish.

And after quite a while,

A natural forest fire occurs.

The rocks are once again set aflame,

And rages without control.

And if you stand at the edge of that once cold forest,

You can still hear that passionate fire roll.