Lion-of-Fire

I walk through the piled up heaps of ash,
As a silent squirrel leaps by in a dash.
I think of the time when the ashes were embers glowing orange, red, and yellow,
Flickering flames were dying out, but no one thought of the bellows.
I thought back further,
Were there ever wolves howling at the moon?
Staying far back
From the leaping flames of burning-hot fire,
So that there wasn’t a reason to lack
Their once bushy gray tails,
Which would now just be a flimsy old-withered wire,
If they hadn’t stayed away from the bright-colored lion
Who jumps to reach the stars,
But always fails.
Only his black tail
Is trailing slowly up to meet the cloudy darkness of the sky.
The fierce crackle would make you jump
You would turn on the pump,
Fill up a pail of water freezing cold
And dump it on the lion of old.
He’ll hiss and snap in an attempt to fire back up
But he never will for a while,
Not until you light up the fire-bin
Will this creature of fiery flames and smoke come back?
This creature is the Lion-of-Fire.