“He is ever lending generously, and his children become a blessing.”

Among our company no leader

had brought a match or gas or lighter.

But one odd duck had flint and steel,

who rained down a spiel of sparks on a

tinder nest, nursing its flicker into

the best grade of dancing flame,

about which we gathered, young and old,

to warm our hands in the cold night air,

where even the shyest of us,

mesmerized by crackle and hiss,

joined in on wistful story-telling.

Just how many slipped out of the dark

with kindling to play Prometheus

I cannot say, but soon the whole beach was a

virtual fire-feast from the titans down to the least of us.