It happened late in day
and the flames leap 25ft high
in the darkening sky, so the papers said
and four engines attended.
Afterwards, a patch the size of
2 football fields, or maybe a hanger
was blackened, charred and scorched
right up to the barbed wire where the path ran.
A few small trees must have looked like torches
holding up a beacon to the village.
Rain fell and the sun shone and within days
bracken has risen out of the cinders;
waving on tall stalks, filigree leaves tightly furled
as if still keeping their heads down,
A rush of willowherb studs the ground like static fireworks,
Bluebells shoot out of the warmed earth
quivering demurely, naked of leaves,
A throstle looks upon the greens and blues and blacks
and sings assent.