Fire Matters

Teary-eyed, we still sit at the “hearth”

Smoke never killed, we were always told

With grass as our roof and mud on walls

We live simply, this fire cooks our food

See me, pilgrim, creating fire

(Seen me yet? Well, I am the one in a black coat)

It is a ritual, on bended knee we almost ‘prostrate’

We draw air into our lungs, then

Aim it at the heart of the smoke

Then…then fire

And then we settle to tell each other tales