And after I
Had gathered the
Wood that we
Are and carefully
Built a teepee
Of timber kindly
Added kindling preparing
For our blaze
You handed me
A box of
Wet matches the
One thing the
Only thing that
I asked you
To bring you
Brought something that
I couldn’t use
So there we
Sat there staring
At what we
Could have been
Knowing that we’ll
Never be that
But rather just
A pile of
Old tired wood