because he lights up when I give him cake.
I pass right by him when I take my walk,
and he will listen when I want to talk.
He turns bright red when he’s out in the sun;
he likes to hide in the woods just for fun.
He told me his name is Attor the Red;
I in no way thought that I was misled.
One day last week when we talked by the shore,
I spoke of Scotland--he said, “Tell me more!”
I told him I had gone down to Loch Ness,
and when I did he breathed fire, no less.
So I then asked, “What’s the matter my friend?”
“Is it that I spoke of Loch Ness again?”
Then Attor gazed at me with diamond eyes,
and what he told me was quite a surprise:
“It’s because I have fond memories, see;
when I’m emotional, fire is me.”
“I used to live over there long ago;
Nessie was my love, and I was her beau.”
“We would trip the loch fantastic at night,
bath in the moonlight because it was bright.”
“And then when tourists would wander our way,
Nessie would take me to her hideaway.”
“Then we would swim through the loch, fin in claw;
we would submerge and on catfish we’d gnaw.”
“Loch Ness was ours and romance was the thing;
Nessie would often curl up in my wing.”
He finished going down memory lane;
I gave him comfort because I saw pain.
He breathed more fire and said happily:
“When I’m emotional, fire is me.”