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.