There stood a King of Thoan, Who bade his subjects: “Burn!”, He lit the oil, and under him, His fate took a nasty turn. Up rose the flame ill-tempered, Up rose the flame ill-bade, The King of Thoan, was no more, As he burned into the shade. Gurgle did his tongue in mouth, And bubble did his eyes, He kindled like a waxen doll, He smouldered in his cries. Melt upon his brow the crown, Of Father's ancient theft; Broil and burn upon his skin, Until stinking ash was left. Now the King no longer burns, Nor do his subjects three; He rests as ash in frigid tomb, As it crumbles in the sea. Now the Thoan people, who Rejoiced at wicked fate - Curse the King - the burning sire, As he rots in pieces eight. Alas they laughed, unhearty, For deep within the tomb, The Burning King, he rose once more, And cackled in the gloom. Raise he did the Kingdom, and His wretched subjects three; In amber blaze he burned them all; Then he sunk into the sea.
© copyright Eve Redwater 2011