A dimming flicker in the brush
Existing for the sake
Of only dying, falling hush
To once again awake

It spreads no cinders in the wind
And grants no warmth to thee
It does not let the brush be thinned
For its security

But overnight, there blew a breeze
That swelled this petty spark
It burned the brush, the vines, the weeds
The trees and all their bark

No longer could this fire hide
from every drop of rain
No fear would dare possess its mind
Or consequence, or pain

It burned, and raged, and smoldered hot
And what a fire it was
But truly, you can blame it not
Cause that's what fire does

Unable to withstand my heat
All will fall to flame
And by the time my time's complete
You all with know my name

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Miraman, in the year 832 AF.