Sat Beside the Fire

A spark kisses the tinder wood and smoulders
Glowing the orange fingers its way round
Taking grasp and kindling into small blaze
No smoke prevailing as yet nor flames venture out
But merely strengthening before bursting forth
Growing ever, taking larger pieces of fuel until crackle
Soft sound escapes as the heat intensifies
Soon no longer able to restrain itself
It takes to consuming its fill
The hand that lit retreats sat beside the fire
Eyes shine captivated by the dance

By Pete Scopes