A flicker caught, a borrowed heat,
from a torch held by hands now still.
We fan the nascent flame, our brief heartbeat
fueling its dance upon the hill.
Then, fingers loosen, the grip unwinds,
as new hands reach, eager and bold.
The fire leaps, leaving us behind,
a story whispered, ages old.
The blaze remembers no single touch,
only the onward rush, the endless light.
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