Engaging little creature of the night,
I see you sometimes scuttling with intent
to reach that dark enclosure seeming safe
to ply your lowly domesticity.
Within that pile of sticks lies hidden bane.
They’re set for torching, this is Guy Fawkes night
and he is set for burning at that stake.
This overarching plan spells doom to yours.
And so the innocence of planned intent
will prove to be subversive of that good
we’ve planned and saved for family’s future days,
in ignorance of bank and parliament:
their wilful craze for power, consummate greed,
will spell our little castle’s detriment.