Fire is a good servant but a bad master

Good servant but a bad master,

Fire, a paradoxical force, both servant and foe,

Dances upon life, its flames aglow.

In Uganda's tranquillity of quiet night, tragedy unfurled,

As fiery tongues devoured innocence, un-swirled.

Who will console the grieving parents' hearts?

Their tears, like rain, fall upon ancestral charts.

Eleven white caskets, a somber procession,

Buried deep in sod, etching sorrow's confession.

The dormitory, once a sanctuary of dreams,

Now lies in ashes, where hope's ember gleams.

Blind children choked by smoke, their voices stilled,

As fiery rage consumed them, destiny unfulfilled.

Yet in this darkness, compassion's light may rise,

A balm for wounded souls, where empathy lies.

Neighbors, strangers, and memories intertwined,

Together, they'll cradle grief, hearts aligned.

For fire, though cruel, can also forge bonds anew,

Uniting grieving parents in shared loss and rue.

And perhaps, in whispered prayers and silent nights,

They'll find solace, as stars weep and moonlight ignites.