To ignite love as a fire, to burn within you a light cast to roar, a flame to warm your soul forevermore.
Kneel in this life upon damp earth, sheltered from the wind and sleet, gather yourself the tinder, to set amidst weary feet.
In the pouch clutched upon your breast so as to never part.
A flint, a steel, a cloth of frail char.
The dry nest of needle, and witches beards abound,
will kindle your love and birth you flame, so you soon can hear the music of the crackle sound.
Your steel shall fall on flint, pray your spark will land, to find itself in bed within the char held in your cold trembling hand.
The glow so faint is weak, an infant fire seed, of your care it is now in most desperate need.
Earn this fires love, blow your lungs to ache, and place this ember in the nest you had to gently make.
The wind of your soul to feed orange frail glow, oh how you must continue to bow and gently blow.
Breathe the smoke and smell the scent, watch it rise towards stars where from flames are surely sent.
Tiresome and faint, weak and often failed, you may again begin, for do not quit nor wail.
If not this spark, if not this char, your flame is not afar.
Strike and blow again, and see the nest erupt! The brightness of the flame casts its light upon tin cup.
Tend this flame with caring love, feed it’s hunger with sticks of heart wood. Drink the scent of boiled pitch for surely it is good.
The spirits dance in swirls of the smoke, a symphony of cracking logs a cadence for ones camp.
Soothing warmth to cook your meal, drive away the damp.
A single spark has made now wild place a home. Here one can found a city or a scholar draft his tome.
