He was a gnarled old man,
Named Vincent De Flare,
It was a chilly October night,
When he fell asleep in his armchair,
No tobacco pipe in his mouth
Or fire in the hearth alight,
In fact it was lightly snowing
And the wind carried a bite,
Where the trouble first started
Was the frayed leg of his pant,
A flame formed out of thin air
Its crackle singing an ominous chant,
As the fire crawled up his leg
Vincent didn’t even take a leap
Perhaps he was very tired
He didn’t even wake from sleep,
Something was not quite right
This was an odd little fire,
It didn’t spread about the house
Only poor Vincent fueled the flames higher,
His wrinkled skin was the wax
And his doomed soul was the wick,
Through the cold night it consumed him
Sad to say his death was not quick,
In the morning came a caller
She looked to and froe,
A small screamed could be heard
Because all she found was a charred toe,
So this is the very sad story
Of Vincent De Flare,
It is a tale that warns the reader
of the fatal fire that forms out of air. |
Submission Name: Vincent De Flare
