Pyro At Play Poem by brandon sanders

Spring through the summer night,
Right at the sailors delight,
placed up right on the foamed green and blue,
filled halfway by yesterdays slew,

Slouched over a dry hill in the sight of day,
Is a young boy, a pyro at play,
Rising black smoke, the neighbors did choke,
And ran to their buckets, to save the houses not burnt and broke,

Scolded was he, by the neighbors you see,
That shipped him out to sea, alone to be,
Handed and read the books of the fires of the dead,
On a boat of the bucket partly aloft,

The waves grow high, filling, crashing by,
From the slew that fulled the buckets too,
Ashore he washed, with a coast of his books,

When he woke, for he did not choke,
Through scratched and broke,
Changed way he, now a man at sea