An old lighter in the cabin, far from shops or stores
What faith in graben its dependable light and sparks by the scores
If in the dark of night it fails to produced its flame
Or will not ignite the burner when food is the aim
Matches are rare, with no stores around
The box is bare, will you be warm until a match is found
Could you two stones strike or dry sticks rub together
A fire to incite in your cold hearth in inclement weather
Then cherish its worth and monitor it well
Or in flames dearth a cold man will dwell
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Online) - Published: October 7th, 2026 03:10
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell
Online)
Comments1
I reckon modern man would die in the forest if he had to rub wood or strike stones.
Let's face it, if the convenience store shuts early it's a catastrophe.
In saying that, If I lose the telly remote I'm phoning the police.
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