In his chest, his heart to bare.
All the pain and sorrow there.
Fire! Fire! Everywhere!
Screaming! Crying! In despair.
Vailiantly dashing the flames he chased.
The fire melting his loves life, cotton and lace.
Scars to hide, upon his face.
Still Henrys quill went on to trace
"The Cross of Snow", a sweet sweet lay.
Of the wife he lost on that sad day.
His thoughts of Fanny would harken him.
And is now at rest, with his mighty pen.......