there is a laybye , the field so pretty
to park by, the gate to lean.
will you report the fire?
no i stopped to admire.
i had seen the stack before, the logs
laid neatly, all was ready then,
now your flames attract me, to
talk of lambs and springtimes.
it is from the storm , tinder dry,
too hot to stand by,
i can feel it from here.
on my return all was ash and steaming,