The Fool and the Flame

In the stocks there wallowed a fool,
His face a mess with blood and stool,
The mob had been exquisitely cruel,

They broke his jaw,
They crippled his legs,
His teeth ornamented the floor,

Yet with a twinkle, more subtle than pride,
His swollen eyes cried,

"I bet you have more."

The burned him alive,
At a quarter past five,
When his blood dropped
on an unfortunate spot,
And stained the foot of a high born fop

His ashes flew,
His bones are bare,
It's seems the fire's flare
just a gem of honor spared,

His body gone,
His soul depart,
A criminal who in the end,
Showed naught but heart,
As the phoenix rises from the dead,
A better man will rise in his stead.