BONFIRES
The smell of wood – a coating of ash -
A flicker of light – a cinder hot -
Crackle and rustle and the scene is not -
What you feel is one to rush -
So, gaze as if time is standing still -
And be not aware of anyone’s name -
Watch the flickering on yonder hill
And see the dance of the yellowish flame -
Crackle, snap ~ and the heat is strong!
The skin grows hot – a sheen and a glow -
And the twigs give out a scream -
The wood throws sparks in a dart-like fashion -
And embers change to cream.
For this is a dream – I love and know
And one that will never, ever end.
V M Cubitt
Martin Cubitt:
05/11/2023