So many years,
Lifetimes ago,
They saw him walking by the sea.
Their curious eyes
Found something new,
So they wondered what he could be.

They called him Fire,
For every night,
A mournful blaze marks his camp.
And many pairs
Of curious eyes,
Watch him shiver, cold and damp.

How he would rise
From where he lay,
To greet the morning sun each day,
Or bow his head,
His arms outstretched,
And reaching for the sky,  he'd pray.

They called him Fire,
For when he eats,
The trees are filled with deathly smoke,
And as he stood,
Above his ****,
With tear - filled eyes,  he often spoke.

To ask relief,
From sacred names,
A penance for the life he'd ended,
And swear anew,
To end his shame,
That he'd see balance once more mended.

And so he marched,
Into the trees,
And there he found my Mother's den,
Where curiously,  he offered meat,  
And said,

"I've come to call you 'friend. '"