Classic Poem

Somehow, the fire I saw not long ago
Has subsequently chased me, high and low;
Runs back and forth betwixt my head and heart,
And shows no disposition to depart.

And so I've wandered 'round (too much, perhaps),
And got acquainted with the fireman chaps,
And planted good cigars where they would seem
Inclined to grow up helpful to my scheme.
(I never smoke; but travelling near and far,
There's few things help one like a good cigar;
When safe between a neighbor's teeth 'tis hung,
It oils his ways and loosens up his tongue.
I get more from cigars, before it's through,
Than all the fellows that I give them to.
Perhaps they should not smoke; but, if they will,
My method helps their families foot the bill.)

Not long ago a sturdy fireman lad,
Who smoked up every last cigar I had,
Unrolled the following story to my view,
Which I believe (conditionally) true: