Fire, Fire.
It’s getting hot,
The sun is out,
Wind is blowing,
There’s smoke about.
Temperature’s high,
Warnings given,
Firemen out,
By fires are driven.
Communities gathered,
In support of all,
Souls are united,
To cushion a fall.
Let us pray,
That all is well,
And we can return,
No tragic story to tell.
Our bushlands have been saved.
I am frightening.
I can be made from lightning.
One small spark brought me awake.
I am winding like a big red snake.
I am like a blood red wall.
I am the beast that ate it all.
My flames flickered, I crept.
I snickered and then … I leapt.
I am roaring.
Catching every bird that is soaring.
Marsala Strachan
Australian Children’s Poetry 