OK, so this little rhyme came to mind while I was walking in the concrete jungle of downtown Newcastle, but it expresses the frustration I’ve experienced while struggling to kindle a fire in the real wilderness on several occasions. I thought I might as well post it here.
The Smoke, It Doth Get in Mine Eyes
By Chris M. Sissons
Despite my mightiest tries,
Not a single flame doth arise,
From the kindling stacked tall,
With birch bark and all,
Though the smoke it doth get in mine eyes.