• Little sparks of hot ashes fly off of the mountain of burning gas,
    feeding on oxygen.
    Sometimes I look at it and see a mother,
    sending off her children every which way,
    Trying to get out of her cage,
    But her offspring never get too far from home,
    So the secret of her majesty is only known to few of us at a time.
    Her colors burn as brightly as the sun, attracting fallen leaves and branches,
    Willing them to become one of her,
    But few times getting away from her solitary home,
    And out of her open,
    but claustrophobic cage.