I saw a little yellow flame flutter and flicker in the storm,
and quickly reached out to guard her fragile naked form.
And while I held my hands around her and felt like god,
took my time staring and musing at her dishevelled bod.
She looked washed up and shaken and bitterly shocked,
like a thief who fell down some stairs and also got caught.
But there’s method in the madness, the flame too spoke,
I understand the concern Sir, but your perception’s broke.
Ever seen someone return sauve and kempt from a war?
It’s not shock or fear, what you misread is, pride, furore.
Unwilling to let go, I stood between her and death’s blows.
She was more than was apparent, burnt fingers later told.
