Bushfire

A scarlet fever pounces on the bush
With smoky warning devastates the wood,
Then stumbles up the hill and seemed to push
The ditches that protect because it could.

A crimson cloud of heavy, sullen ash
Descends upon the animals that flee
The scribble gums surrender with a crash
Until the last turns skeleton from tree.

Wet gullies that just yesterday ran full
Have offered silver steam to add to smoke
Now drifting into clouds that seem to pull
The noose a little tighter as I choke.

Waiting below I watch my land retire,
Retreating from the flames of the bushfire.