As a child we searched
For things that combust
Ideas from a book,
Like saltpeter and flints.
They turn out to be rare
As grown-ups knew then
One of their secrets
That they hid out of tact.
Books, all those books!
They promise too much
To a world of wet wood
They promised a spark.
Yet...
Still there is petrol.
That's what you're doing here--lighting your petrol.
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