FIRE

Fire is something that’s always there.
It can dry up water, it will eat the air.
It licks ‘round the wood in the fireplace
Its countenance is bright with a burning face.

Its colors, of blue, yellow, and red.
Melting gold, silver, and lead.
It runs over everything, wood and leaf.
It runs from volcanos from somewhere beneath.

Fire burns in the winter to keep us from cold.
This use of fire is very old.
It will light a way in the darkest places.
For darkness runs when fire chases.

We use it to describe a fiery pain.
Fire is our way to often explain.
And when we say that a boy is wild.
We say that he is a fiery child.

Fire, is a beautiful thing.
It twirls ‘round wood in a graceful ring.
And when it glows in dying light,
I like to watch this warming sight.

When my eyes blur from length of staring.
Of the troubles of life I cease from caring.
And watch the curling of flaming tongues.
From which not a word there ever comes.

Fire is the thought of my imagination.
Bringing destruction, and creation.
And though it dies, it shall return.
For fire, will forever burn.