The birth of whose is known
Unlike its death
The sound of whose
Is quite familiar
To dramatic ears
The smell of whose
Is nostalgic
And the color
Of whose is brilliant
One that warms me up
And my soul
One that cooks the food
They eat
And one that burns down
The refuse
Sometimes
Burns down the colossal Amazon
Sometimes
Takes away the soul
Sometimes
Dresses up in an unfamiliar attire.

Don’t orphan us
You are our beloved fire.