A few years ago, three children died in a mysterious fire. The mother was indicted for murder, but has not been tried. I wanted to remind the public of this awful tragedy as these children cry out for justice from the grave. REFLECTIONS ON DEATH BY FIRE (Revised 25 November, 2004) Oh Mother Dear, what do we hear? The sirens scream. But why? Can we just stop this scary game, Before the flames draw nigh. Oh Mother Dear, unbind our hands, So we can free our feet. Do you really want us fried alive, In this char-broiling heat? Oh Mother Dear, the smoke’s so thick, We can not even see, Horror stamped upon our sibling’s face, Where sweat and tears flow free. But we can hear each others screams, In horrible crescendo grow, While friends and neighbors weep and wail, In the ashes down below. So close you are, Oh Mother Dear, Yet so, so far away. A million miles or more could be, And why? We can not say. Oh Mother Dear, three dads have we, But none to help us flee, From stench and smoke of burning home. Yes, none to set us free. Just one more gulp of toxic fumes, To seal our tragic fate. While you perform your greatest show, And for the applause do wait. So Mother Dear, come join us soon, We’ll probably forgive, As children do, in time to come, While you, but not us, still live. And if we survived a hundred years, Your explanations might, Just start to crack the fire-sealed shell, Which sealed our bitter plight. Yes, Mother Dear, we’ll rest in peace, Our fragile bodies baked, While you evangelize your friends, Over our coals they raked. Dear God, have mercy on us all, And spare those left behind, From the wrath of your most holy fire, That infanticides should find. June 2002 David J. Holcombe