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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The croft was the centre of our universe, About it all day we kids would converse. We talked of raiding a few streets away, We would steal their wood without delay. Then on the night, we stood, eyes bright, As the grown ups, the fire did light. The flames at first were yet to sprout, We all shouted "the fires gone out". Then with a woosh the kindling caught, It traveled fast through the rest We kids watched with bated breath, As the flames began to beat, All stepping back from the heat. The fire consumed all we had stacked, The old folk sat on old furniture with care, Supping stout from jugs by their chairs. Then the kids cries did rent the air, The flames had reached Guy Fawkes chair. He went up in a blaze of glory, But that's not the end of my story. Out came the boxes of fireworks now, Rockets and bangers and Catherine wheels, All the sparklers to make the kids squeal. Roman candles, volcanoes, we had the lot. Then out of the fire came the baked spuds, Too hot to handle, so were spiked with wood. Toffee apples and brittle treacle squares. All the Mum's were proud of their wares. We kids were covered in muck as we ran about, Hoping that the fire would not go out. Our eyes streaming from the smoking fire, Our Mum's decided it was time to retire. Aw just a few minutes more, we pleaded to Mum. Ok then it's bed cos I'm tired ee ba gum. © Dave Timperley for Bonfire night 2018
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