Lucky To Be Awake! Poem by Barry Van Allen

When I was young, I liked to warm cold bones
by a warm and comfy fire,
and I loved to watch a candle as it burned,
a fire well controlled, has it's returns.

A friend of mine, years past , and I,
were riding in my car,
as we came upon a great commotion,
and smoke was seen not far.

'That may be my house! ', he declared,
- - - and it turned out to be true...
though such a thing we'd never seen,
we somehow knew what we must do.

As teenage idiots, we ran right in,
and saved the things we could,
well, maybe not the right stuff ,
and though heroic in a way,
we didn't do much good.

They chopped and sprayed the whole place down,
and almost seemed to have some fun,
and when they were gone,
we sat on the lawn,
in a silence, losing sun.

Early the next morning,
we started on that smelly mess,
I know I felt their sorrow,
their frustration, and their stress.

Everyone they knew pitched in,
and there were little victories,
a photo here, a novel there,
but the building back was slow,
privacy disrupted,
most memories destroyed,
and still not back to normal,
by the snow.

Sure, fire may be nice,
but uncontrolled...
... a hellish price!