Fire, fire, everywhere!
On the ground and in the air!
They insist they aren't crazy 'bout fire;
But then I call them, liar, liar!

Josh, then Jon are first on the scale,
Then Hannah, little "Miss Skinny
as a Rail."
Steve is the next Pyro under this roof;
I sure like my big stepdad goof.

Beth is not real insane 'bout fire;
But mostly, you doan wanna raise her ire.
Mom and Joel, aren't pyros all;
The latter like to sing, in echo-y halls.

A boy called me on the phone
and wanted to know if I was home.
I told him that I was busy that day
and had to throw the horses some hay.
"So, how are you?" he stuttered.
"Just fine, but I must clean my room.
It's very cluttered."
After that I got off the phone,
and if the truth must be told,
I felt as though my senses had turned to mold.

A girl is called a She;
Multiple Shes are called a We,
and one thing that is easy to see,
is that a She is not a He.

Tall, strong, musical, polite.
Is brave enough to back away,
from any fight.
Happens to be my big brother.
The oldest son, of my Mother.

The smog of the city faded and finally died off completely as my carriage rattled onward into the countryside. Finally, it ground to a shaky halt in the middle of a rambling collection of shacks and shanties. I emerged with confidence and determinedly sunk my feet into several inches of deep mud, courtesy of the previous evening’s rain.

I have a long history with stinging insects. There was the time when I was only three or four and I threw a rock at a wasp nest. My brother, whose idea it was, was safely hidden before I threw, of course. Then there was the time I intercepted a bee with a swing in mid-flight. And there was also the time I ran into a nest while skirting a creek and ended up with three stings and my hat floating downstream. But nothing compares to the shining moment of my “career.”