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Nature
It was so precious to him,
 So close and sweet a thing,
 The yellow and red flames 
 Brightening the dark interior 
 Of the shelter, the happy crack
 Of the dry wood as it burned 
 That he could not leave it
 
 He started,
 ripping the bark using his fingernails
  at first, and when that didn't work
 He used the sharp edge 
 Of the hatchet, 
 Cutting the bark thin slivers,
 Hairs so fine they were,
 Almost not there.

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