The Bonfire

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