Young Johnny watched the older boys
as they gathered twigs and stone.
He couldn’t wait to see the fire
that would warm them to the bone.
They’d rub two sticks together
‘til a white smoke soon appeared.
Then they’d blow and rub the twigs some more.
Young Johnny had to cheer!
To see the first small trace of fire
was always such a sight.
It warmed the air around them
It brightened up the night.
Yet when Johnny tried to start a fire,
the older boys would chide,
“You’re much too young to do that.
Maybe next year you can try.”
But next year wasn’t soon enough.
Sad eyes began to swell.
He’d kept their fires burning,
and he’d learned the lessons well.
It seemed young Johnny had a point.
And they took his words to heart.
They gave him sticks to start the fire
in hopes he’d get a spark.
Young Johnny tried the best he could
And finally had to rest.
“That’s okay,” he heard one say,
“At least you tried your best.”
He tried again, to no avail.
He started to perspire.
When someone from behind him
stood straight up and hollered, “fire!”
While watching Johnny’s efforts,
another fire, left unattended,
crept outside it’s boundaries
and spread quickly, undefended.
A tent went up in flames
with another in it’s path.
Johnny grabbed a bucket and
quickly went to meet it’s wrath.
The dirt inside, he flung on it.
Then water that he found.
With very little effort,
the fire he had drowned.
Blackened face and sooted hands
he announced, “I ain't no lighter. But it sure is good to know I make a real good Fire-Fighter.”
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