Pitch, not the softball one, or the musical one.
The log one!
A piece of wood for the fire, just dripping with sticky pitch.
Some might call it sap, the curious might touch it,
Only to be taken aback at how it coats and spreads on skin.
The fresh pine scent might be the only nice thing about it.
No, wait, there is one more nice thing about it,
The flames leaping high when it is placed on the fire.
This, though, comes complete with really noxious black smoke,
Which seems to follow each of us around the fire pit.
Gust of wind, inhale a bit of ash and smoke,
Yet the magical dancing flames leap higher
And higher in a frenzy of orange and yellow
Dancing.
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