Clothed in gray and brown
They formed an imperfect circle
Armed with the fire in their eyes
Reflecting the flame in the centre
They grabbed handfuls each
And waited for the tallest
Who in turn gave no signal
But flung his first from his right
The flame coloured them yellow
And they began awestruck
Pouring their hands over the fire
Feeding the tip of the tongue
Paper burned, immoderately
And they couldnt care less
Of content, type or quality
Only which burned quicker
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