Burn's night.
There once was a fire.
It flamed in the grate.
Drying stockings and warming cold plates.
One day with no reason the baby of the house crawled closer and closer.
Mummy was cooking.
And Dad was out back.
He'd not done it before.
Crawled that close.
He'd always watched from a distance.
He crawled closer.
Til he felt the warm firey breath.
Closer until he felt it melting his flesh.
He couldn't stop.
He held his hand to catch the honey dance.
As though in a trance.
The honey tongue leapt and licked the baby's hand.
He forgot the pain
But never the fire.
Thank god for memory.
Thank god for forgetting.