She breathed fire in a mysterious turn of events.
She glowed the coals of a thousand soul’s who’s embers lit up roasting homes.
They dreamt of cocoa, morning coffee, Halloween and sticky toffee.
Inhaled as her chest moved quick.
The cloud in sparks, hooves clickety tick.
Shining like pure silver after the Autumn fall.
Gone like a shot into the night sky, a miracle to us all.
© G.P Williamson 2017