Fri, 02/19/2016 - 12:11 -- Bug

My folks and I are quite weird;
Crazy for the wild.
We're always after danger,
Never anything mild.


We've a knack for fire,
And for watching flames dance.
We can light almost anything,
Given half a chance.


My pops once lit a tree.
Seventy feet encased in sap.
It went up in smoke;
Fish and Game yelled' "CRAP!"


Even while hunting,
Dad'll light a small fire.
I'll admit I enjoy it,
As the flame dance ever higher.


So, my folks and I are pyros.
Its passed from one gen to the next.
My grandpa, dad, then me,
Without it, we'd be vexed.

This poem is about: 
My family


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