The blade that spins will break if it hits them,
the brown strange shapes that lie upon the ground.
So men move out and drag the sticks away,
to a pile that is set off aside.
The hill will grow as more are put on top.
New sticks seem to appear up from the ground.
But soon as each is dragged away from there,
a time is met when none do move and grow.
The men then stand and look upon the stack,
the large pile that was formed on the side.
A small light spark of a thought inside does grow,
it glows and smokes and soon there is a flame.
The sticks should burn and give the men their want,
but here they are tangled and are too large.
The men decide to break the sticks apart,
and set them in the metal drum to burn.
With bends and cracks the sticks do break apart,
the irrevocable sound of the snap.
The sticks do break and are then put by size,
each type apart to burn more easily.
When this is done the pile is no more,
the sticks are in a small brown pyramid.
The air will cool and then the sticks will burn.
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