The sacred grass is laid with wood and moss
Between the temple rocks along the stream
A spark is struck, the daily world is lost
In echoes of an ancient sacred seeing
As campfire murmurs, chanting without break
Aged sounds of flame in aged night
Whose hoary rhythms touch the mind and make
Us brothers of the fire in sparks of light
These golden sparks fill a warming cave/
From somewhere inside the night’s dark eyes/
Their throbbing tones fill the fire with waves/
Of Agni mantras, sung by ancients, wise///
This brother fire hymns through pitch-filled pine/
The warmth within his heart is inside mine.