Walking in the garden,
I stepped onto the grass
Barefoot,
And revelled in the tingles
On the soles of my feet
That made me smile.

The grass was wet.
Absently, I sat myself down
And felt the grass in my hands...
'The grass is wet,' I thought,
'It feels nice, cool and peaceful,
But water doesn't catch fire...'

*Can the fire inside me burn in serenity?
Or will it burn out my peace
And c
          o
           n
          s
         u
         m
           e
               me?