Mary Beth

October 27, 2010
Glowing embers bring us light,
Raging flames envelop fright,
Fire brings both life and death,
But not for the soul of Mary Beth,

Young Mary Beth no more than two,
Loved her parents and the color blue,
But that night her poor soul,
Was buried feet beneath the coal,

Mary Beth slept near the stove,
This ensured a cozy cove,
The flames danced and taunted her,
The room was filled with child's laughter,

Mary Beth's time soon grew short,
As fire is not the friendly sort,
A spark then shot across her crib,
And then set fire to her bib,

The flicker grew into a blaze,
Her screams of anguish did amaze,
The fire had ensured her doom,
Her body soon it did consume,

her parents wept all through the night,
Her charcoaled remains were quite a sight,
But her soul did not depart,
In the room yet worlds apart,

Young Mary Beth sat in that room,
Her ghastly squeals thounderously boomed,
Yet to her mother and her father,
All that noise did not bother,

Mary Beth yet to realize,
The reality of her demise,
Then returned to her bedroom,
That the flames had just consumed,

Her ghostly soul sat in her crib,
Atop her filthy charcoaled bib,
Unaware of her own death,
The death of course, of Mary Beth.

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