More writing again!

Wow, if only my thesis was coming along so well. Today I wrote a children’s poem about a pyromaniac who gets a job using his knowledge of fire.

Little Harry Murphy loved to make things burn,
Fascinated with fire, like the first caveman to learn,
He wondered at the heat, the smoke and the flame,
With matches and lighters he played all his games.

He knew every detail, learned first hand of course,
The nature of fire, the properties, the source,
What burned quick, with big orange flames,
Or what embered slow but could never be tamed.

As Harry grew up, he couldn’t burn everything,
His house, his car, his wedding ring,
The ignitions he did make, had to remain small,
But he longed for infernos, massive and tall.

“Fire Safety Inspector” the job title said,
Harry was perfect, in fire he was well read,
Potential big blazes now delighted his dome,
As he imagined flames in people’s factories and homes.