There was fire in the Westminster abbey

There was a fire in the Westminster abbey.
Voracious flames dancing everywhere.
Wrapped around the wooden stronghold.
Devouring the moon, fire lord ruled.
Woman screamed and children cried.
The house of lord had come to die.

There was a fire on an October evening.
People were fleeing, fools were praying.
The ember and the ash mingled together.
The twilight was there long before the dawn.
The chilly winter breeze now on stage.
Together they will put forth a play.

There was a fire in the palace of London.
Neither a king nor a queen died in the mundane.
But haunting voices echoed in the corridor.
The silence of graveyard was no more.
Black smokes darkened the memories only.
As the live inferno scorched all night solely.

There was a fire by the river, Thames.
The burning woods smelled like incense.
The ash rained over the silent river.
A black smoky veil dropped all over.
No bell tolled, no clock chimed and life was at bay,
when there was a fire in the Westminster abbey.