Despite what seemed of more than one hundred

Repetitive birds in a volume that is almost violent

But the silence comes from a voice forbid

For they are not there and haven’t arrived

So what does it mean that they never came

That they never answered, that their voice deprived

Life of answers and nearly put out a flame

That barely embered, barely survived

But still yet more there was no one to blame

As this flame had been noticed

Its existence was expressed

It was for a moment the only thing focused

And when the flame was nearly put to rest

Their presence arrived and oxygen did too

Causing the flame to turn back to fire

However, their appearance nearly away blew (??)

Like the wind, it travelled by, their existence still dire

For the fire to stay alive and not disappear

But the wind always comes back

Even when it seems gone and one has fear

That it will never become and its existence will lack

It may seem forever to prove that it’s there

Still soon the warmth will show

When oxygen gives the weak fire care

And so this simple campfire may, or may not, forever glow