He started as a gift inside a matchbox lid,
built like a stick stronger than a brick,
of Bakelite resistance, sulpherous and wick.
As tallow melts to yellow he burned pale green,
like the thatch on a cottage in a countryside scene.
strike him and light him, fan him into life,
he'll flare up in a second like a bad tempered wife.
Poke him,stoke him,till your fingers start to warm,
he'll lead you to strange places where you've never been before.
Then unfurl a world,and curl it in your palm,
of dizzy skies and meteorites,that will fill you with alarm.
Puff , snuff, stuff him, back inside the box,
wrap it round with duck tape ,turn a key inside the lock.
stick it in the sea chest with a stuffed red fox,
bung your ears with bandages,you'll still hear his knock.
He'll stamp on his own toes, gargle,then he'll cry
"I can show you, I know you and I won't be denied."