The fire started long ago,
It burns brightly,
Threatening to ramage through the winding forest.
But it is quickly extinguished.

Or so it is thought.

The flame still burns in the underbrush,
sometimes reduced to a few smoldering embers.
Smoke still rises in the air,
A foggy trail of swirling gray smog,
Leading right back to the source,
Yet it is ignored.

It is ignored in the hope that maybe it will burn itself out. 

If the flame is left alone for too long,
The embers will grow,
Eating the twigs and leaves on the forest floor,
Slowly but surely creeping it`s way along the logs.

Sure enough,
It engulfs a tree,
Then two,
Then five,
Until it has consumed almost the entire forest.

But then it is put out again,
All done by a single firefighter,
The ranger of the forest.

Some praise the ranger for putting out the fire so quickly,
Comending them for their outstanding work.

What the ranger doesn`t tell them though,
Is that there is always a smoldering flame left.
They are never able to put it out,
No matter how hard they try.

Sometimes,
The ranger wishes the fire would burn the whole forest down,
So they could finally rest.