The Fire That Tamed Itself

I
It started one twilight.
A spark ignited
on a tiny wick.
Threatening to blow off
at the slightest puff.
Many a hands shaded it
but it still flickered.
Precariously.
II
Days went by
and the tiny flame
grew strong
as it fed
on the winter air.
Blue.
Orange.
Red.
It got fiercer
with time.
Fiendish
to the extent
that it ate up
the wick
that gave it birth.
It got hotter
and hotter
and then one day
it perished altogether.
As if some curse
had been put
upon the devil himself.
Its sad demise
was talked about
in social circles
far and wide.
III
It flared again.
Brighter than ever
as if resurrected
by the gossips.
As if its death
was just an illusion.
IV
But this time
it glowed
passively.
Remitting gentle light.
Soothing to the eye.
Harmless.
Inoffensive.
Accepted by all
as a benign presence.
And forever known
as the fire that tamed itself.