Stoke up the fiery hearth, Mellow, tender music Playing Softly in the back of the room. The flames rise, fan them till they spark and crackle, Kindling turns to ash and rubble Woodsmoke whirls to oblivion.
The room is warm, cosy, Snug. Blankets strewn across the floor, windows shut and lock the door, feel the heat Spread Soft and heavy. A leaden heat, the fire has now Been fanned too much, The smoke swirls high and chokes the dust.
Flames leap up to grab the walls, Fabric rips and burns and calls, Out for help, beams and rafters blacken, fiery flashes and burning satin, molten copper and curtains ablaze The sight now hidden by a smoky haze
This little room, with blankets and chairs, Cushions, rugs, tapestries, Swear that though this fire can give us life, If you fan too much, All shall turn to strife.