Pardon me stranger,
Could I have a moment of your time?
Are you available to give to me,
A smidge of your mind?

I can see the ashes in your eye,
Grey and flaking out as you blink,
Falling like gentle snow,
Small puffs as they hit the ground,
Leaving a gentle trail in your wake.

The gentle sounds of a crackling fire following you,
Each and every step,
Much akin to the crinkling of a pop can,
A bittersweet reminder of the things you've had to take.

The scent that wafts from you,
The smell of charred oak,
That oh-so unique sensation,
Of destruction, or something that was used to create?

That warmth that seems to emanate from your very soul.
Seeping into everyone that you pass,
The dying gasps of a forest fire?
Or of a carefully tended campfire,
To fend off a winter's cold embrace?

So if you can,
Kind stranger,
A piece is all I ask,
So that I may see,
So that I may partake.