Bonfire Night Poem by john (called jack) wren

A guy in immaculate dress
Stuffed to the brim with hay
Was topped and tailed to impress
In worn out boots, and beret.

Then placed with aplomb and style
By those who always know best,
At the top of a never ending pile
For the hungry fire to digest

Only to disappear in a puff of smoke
Among bold leaping flame,
Gone is that attire, truly bespoke
And his reputation of ill fame.

Sparks dance with flickering flame
Expelled from the frenzied fire,
And children dance to acclaim
What joy they both transpire