In the bleak of the night or the warmth of the day, forever spreading its scent,
Not always pleasing to all, sometimes a reminder of torment,
Curtailing, incinerating itself for others content.
Even though it doesn't last too long, it leaves an aroma oh so strong,
Never stopping to think once for its own blues,
Sailing with the wind always, letting him take away its hues,
Even when he leaves the stick behind with a bruise.
