sometimes we are a burning splinter
fanned into life by a passing breeze
tickled by its tales of fabulous places
sometimes we glow red then flare
into a myriad sparks and hisses
like a fire agitated and soon to roar
but soon our zest is over and done with
and only that small burning point remains aglow
such is life,like a burning splinter crackling in the night
no one remembers us, come the break of day...