The Night The Poetry Caught Fire

The Advent concert, candle-lit
With night-lights round the tall pulpit,
My voice projected six feet higher
And then the poetry caught fire.

Rehearsal went without a hitch,
The microphone was on full pitch;
The reading lamp with coils of wire
Presented no strong risk of fire

But when my turn came to recite
A poem about Christmas Night,
Like incense smoke was rising higher;
The night the poetry caught fire.

My concentration almost slipped
As flickering flames across the script
Spread from the corner held too near
The candle bringing Christmas cheer.

The brass quintet were quite amazed
As my first stanza gently blazed.
A ripple spread across the choir
The night the poetry caught fire.

The congregation had to smile,
God’s sense of humour all the while
Had placed my pride upon the pyre,
The night my poetry caught fire.