I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference,"
When I first read these lines,
I barely understood the inference,
But go out among the trees,
There are plenty of branches on the ground,
A person can build a small teepee of wood
And start a fire that will do him good.
I bask in the comfort of this splendid gift.
I poke my fire with a stick,
Add logs and increase the blaze,
Warmth covers my face,
And I ponder our ancestors
On the plains of Africa,
Their hands, and their minds,
Passing this gift down the ages.
What a great creation fire is,
I wonder at the greatness of humanity,
And the depravity,
Like fire, a blessing and a scourge,
In a world traumatized by a splitting atom.
A person can stay out,
And sit by his fire,
Warming his hands,
And wonder at his sisters and brothers,
Too busy to ponder what this cheerful blaze is.
A gift from Prometheus? Or a scourge from Pandora?
Discovered by our ancestors in Africa?
We have the ability to create warmth,
Comforting the primordial child,
May humanity and fire live forever.