Internal Combustion Chamber

Atmosfera sniffs An asphyxiating smoke Coming from a secret Fireplace – not a single spark Is to be seen She naturally searches For the bonfire left scorching By campers in the surviving forest That grew and selfishly devoured The entire sylvan dales And commands her soaring clouds To scan the flaming, smoking Spots on the earth and, straightaway, To spray extinguishing showers For them to cool down and shiver But, alas, Atmosfera still sniffs (with rage) An asphyxiating smoke Coming from a secret Fireplace, and not a single spark Was seen by her soaring clouds