Campfire

The campfire is growing low

Red are the smoldering coals

I must keep attention

For it’s my intention

To not let the fire loose its glow

Some fires burn short with a passion

Other’s fuel is wisely rationed

Some like to give a show

Some have an intense glow

Some are alive, in their fashion

A fire that has been wrongly made

Will not last one part of a day

But flutters into dust

Lost what little trust

It had, and of course it starts to rain