At number twenty in Gordon’s street
Where Ingold’s shelter used to be
A thin, tall man with Chem degree
Will show you magic, but he’s no cheat.
You’ll blink at bangs, flashing lights, smoke free
As hydrogen meets fire you’ll grit your teeth
Iodine colours will swing and light
While giant bubbles and foams will reach your knee
Oxygen and Carbon dioxide will turn to liquid
The latter chocking a stick on fire
The first, as drop between Iron trapped.
Your memory like Mercury’s silver colour vivid
Will certainly make you the nature admire
While heading back home, in your coat wrapped.