Energy starts with a glowing spark kindling with balsa sticks,
Spreading steadily into a warming, wavering orange flame.
A mountain of crisscrossed, muddy turf beckons the glow,
Responding to the call the fire grows rapidly, reaching upward.
Caressing the crumbling, dark blocks with excited vigour,
Illuminating the shiny marble base with its elegant dance.
The bright imps cheekily running across the fuel, leaping high,
Contrasted by the arched ebony surround and dense, teak mantelpiece.
Two logs sit uneasily on the mound, roasting, spitting in protest,
Eyes cannot help but focus on the stinging, mesmerising exhibition,
Knowing the home will be warm all night,
Leaving only sleepy embers in the morning.