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  • Writer's pictureWick Fields
    • May 15, 2020
    • 1 min read

Oh the Flames

Oh the flames

Whipping wild at city gates

In Rome and Beijing and Cleveland

Frightening the old

Half cold in their graves

And surrounding the young

Half hung by their age.

Oh the flames

Lapping low at misty windows

This Great War came in as a prawn

Slandering our names

Half lame it doth crawl

Around corners and bricks

Half sticks it stands tall.

Oh the flames

Swirling sharp in your homes

Torching all of your treasured kin

Vanity disrobing slowly

Half holy is the violin

That plays us gently to sleep

Half sweet and so thin.

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