Entropy

Entropy

Fire will call my chatelaine
from the mansion of her pride.
Fire will be her flowing train,
fire the master of her ride
to the station of the Bride.

Fire will be her veil and crown,
and the ring now near her hand.
Fire will be her wedding gown;
she will wait for my demand,
she will kneel at my command.

Fire will take her then supine
to my barren narrow bed;
fire in nature so malign,
fire the breeder of the dead,
burning in her maidenhead.

Fire will be her joy and shame,
and the master of her vice.
Fire will call her to my flame;
she will beg for paradise,
she will crave my kiss of ice.