Dilandau's Pyro Poem



I watch it waver gently

As it's touched by my soft breath

I hardly dare to breathe

For fear that wind might be its death

It glows like dragons' eyes

It sheds warmth I yearn to feel

This tiny little flame

That makes everything its meal

It's eating up its wood-

What's running out is time

But one's easily replaced by another

And I've got a box- they're all mine

A flicker- then it's out

I move to strike another up again

So I can watch the burning matches

And feel their warmth upon my hand









Until I figure out how to steal them all away... I unfortunately don't own Escaflowne! Hey, I rhymed!! I'M A POET!!!