The forest is silent and tense
Made anxious by the smoky haze
Rising from the burning paddocks
Nearby at sunset
There's a tightness in the air
The trees are waiting
For a marauding spark
Not a leaf is stirring
Under the dirty sky
Slowly dragging
Brown clouds across
The forest has prepared itself
Shedding all useless limbs
The low bushes have not survived
Through this endless summer
No flowers are to be seen
Only the dry crackling leaf litter
Is resting on the ground
Immobile waiting
Is the game of the day
Will it see another day?
Lucette C. Bailliet
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