The Bonfire

- Daisy Gold
A Japanese choka
A soft morning breeze
Wafts plumes of pungent wood smoke,
Curling round the Hill,
Swirling down the lane,
Autumn’s incense stirring dreams.
Sam rakes the deep leaves.
Piles, now heaps, then bundles grow,
Mounds of russet reds,
Mountains of burnished orange,
Yield to the devouring fire.
Bonfire fire crackles, spits,
Flaming fingers flick and leap,
Showering sparks frolic,
The flames’ fury roars and howls,
Fiery tongues soon thirst for more.
Autumnal gleanings,
Sun weary fading flowers,
Wild bramble bushes,
Twigs and branches, lawn trimmings.
Summer’s demise on a pyre.
Leaning on his rake,
The old gardener recalls,
Heartfelt memories
Of another burning hill,
A sense of sadness and loss.