The Incredibles

The Incredibles – A Family of Heroes

In London’s misty lanes the city sighs,
The Rolling Thunder chimes, a distant boom;
Yet in the Simpson house, beneath the skies,
A hero’s heartbeat sings a quiet tune.

Mr. Incredible, with tattered leather coat,
His eyes like glinting coal from an old lamp,
He carries strength as if the world’s folk wrote
The code of valor in a marching stamp.

Elast‑girl, her blouse a splash of scarlet light,
She stretches late into the midnight hour,
The night a canvas of her trembling might,
Her courage folds with gentle, steady power.

Bobby, wild and proud, dashes past the crowd,
His fingers cling to myhoped‑for dreams.
Violet, shy, her eyes a storm‑cloud’ve allowed,
She paints the fibres of the world in gleam.

The super‑family scars the solitude,
In their secret hide‑away of dreams.
Each day they trade aid for whatever they’d deduce
The inch‑by‑inch world, from roots to beams.

When the world becomes a theatre of doom,
They raise their glint, their colour so bright,
To save the city from the scum,
They salvage hope with a flare of light,

And waltz the tale to the end, the bright,
The film has run we’ve woken right now.
Their shadows creep over straight‑bacon,
No “It’s fine, just a movie” - aye, they do squawk.

They are the family that lovely – not of love–
They build, they love, they kill like a storm,
Yet the best idea to spare going to clean is: They enjoy the fight. —.