Swelling with, a vanity vain
There burnt, a proud little flame
High from its heat, haughty, unmasked,
To the blowing wind, it jeered and asked

‘Hey, you wayward wind’ it slew
‘You aimless drifter without a clue’
‘On a fruitless search of lands new’
‘I wonder, how relevant are you?’

Solemn, silent, saintly, the breeze
Flew past quietly, with graceful ease
It left behind an answer, much to the flame’s ire
The breeze whispered, and the flame was a raging fire…

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