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.