(Inspired by Mountain tops Outfitters)
With flint-strike light, he first ignites the bed of desiccated stems,
While muttering in quiet sighs, his 'oft recounted epic tales,
And as the sparks embark to march upon their destined turns and bends,
Their snaps reflect pack laden steps as men once wandered winding trails,
To unknown climes, through brush and vines, traversing vales of bleeding brooks,
Emerged from cuts of covered earth. They blaze the trees to charted paths,
Permitting passage like the parted pages of a secret book,
Which illustrate the peaceful rage that nature makes convey her wrath,
To those invaders of far places, still remote, alone, unseen,
Though counted known, kept never owned, left uncontrolled and unopposed.
Bright shining embers- watched, remembered, yet untouched, as jewels in dreams.
Such sights described, while painted eyes reflect them as the fire grows.
