If someone were to strike a match,
A nonchalant action,
With a catch.
Just think how fast the fire will flame
Once it decides to be one?
Into trees caught in century old soil,
And benches made of flimsy rust,
The big banyan, the weeping willow
Australian oak and English pine
Bound in, held firm by sun-crazy vines.
Yet if it is light they crave,
Will a spark be enough? Moses' followers
May have another burning bush,
While the rest of us bang our heads
Into the ash of what-once-was.
But the smoker only did,
What we were slowly working towards.
Perhaps he did it quicker.