It’s a flicker of a flame,

Many call it lame,

A little light of hope,

But it always seems to mope,

when the others start to crackle and rise,

The little flame shrinks down beneath the embers to hide,

Smaller and smaller the little flame goes,

Higher and higher the others like to smoke,

The poor little flame alone in the light,

All the other flames wanna start a fight,

The heat starts to rise as the flames grow higher,

burning down the trees and grass as the flicker grows tired,

tired of destruction,

tried of the cries,

tired of the killing,

A flicker of hope in disguise,

But destruction is what they do,

What she did next no one had a clue,

Along comes a river as they burn up the trees,

Closer to the river blows the gentle breeze,

The good little flicker knew she had no choice,

she led the other flames with not a single voice,

With the flicker followed the flame,

right into the river they came,

the river washed them all away,

the woods consumed by darkness until the next day.