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Fire


It flickers like a dancer

Leaping across its dance floor

Of brown and green 

Once it stops 

It dies down

Without a spark of energy--no more

It's mean

With red-hot hate

It stomps on its victims 

Burning them to tears

Reeking them with fear 

But it can bring the plentiful 

Underneath the ash

Plants start to grow

Quite steady and slow

It billows out a gray gas

Called smoke

That can make you cough and choke 

It's the sire

Of the burning 

It's fire 

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Gia15

Poems are my passion and so are stories.

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