The Life of a Match, a poem by Dave White (my father)

Taken by man from my brothers arm, Rendered and hewn by unforgiving axe, 

In a box no greater than another, once living, then chopped by the lumberjacks. 

A head of sulphur was given to me, and I lay with others of the same fate, 

I waited and man then came to my turn, and the sulphur was struck on a sandpaper plate. 

Now a part of the enemy of all of my kind, a vesta for heat to those who desire, 

For warmth and for cooking I was a supply, then discarded and cast to an open fire, 

Now left unattended and out of control, the enemy has spread to my native kind, 

Burning and scorching all that is touched, wild as any beast and wandering blind, 

Blown by the wind, fire’s taken it’s toll, and death and destruction was apportioned to me, 

But who am I to take all this blame, my life was just being a part of a tree. 

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