Bellowed the burning plains, screeched “sister to the sun!”.
Rising human fumes fled from befouled home to home.
Full and foul swept with a falcons fury!
Flaming woodland leaped across the skyline,
Ignited in her nightdress,
While yabbies cauldron bubbler boiled brawled up banks to die.
Darkened winds smoked with ash smothered young Victoria’s cleavage with,
Torrid lye and breathing its suffocating attendance till her breast turn black,
Birthmarked her blistered bush so it could burn no longer.
And our anonymous heroes?
Those torn from scorched hide— masters of incandescence!
Fighters of fire!
Who fled to furnace fend wrought their greatest harvest,
As wretched heathens stood on heavens hearthrug life blazing!
Pitiable is the schedule of desolation.
A blaze no more perhaps,
But softly rages the timpanist hums of the fireflies,
Amber glow like rum cinders across the charred bark peel hung as discarded skin.
Around inverted graves of gentle animals,
Their sores smoulder and crackling,
As pickings for trespassing horseflies and the bishops keep.
One-hundred Saturday wolves are returning to the arenas of the scenic…
Bellow! Bellow! Bellow! Their blackened howl.