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.
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,