Kindling
Fallen from lofty heights
Sodden on dewy nights
Disregarded underfoot
Fated to become soot
If we decide to utilise
This wood of meagre size
To be the start
Around the heart
To be the fuel
To fight the cool
That cool of the room
The dull, the gloom
Is begun
To be overcome
When the spark is lit
In the ashy pit
