Fireworks

In wellington boots we wade through the field.
The weather is cold but together we're warm
and, whizzing in circles, four catherine wheels
their fiery pirouettes, for us, perform.

 

And rockets that rush with a whoosh to the sky;
with long tails of fire that flash as they fly
going bang, rat-a-tat and ka-boom, then explode;
shattering into shimmering showers of gold.

 

Then more rockets burst into bright coloured showers;
red and green, blue and pink just like fiery flowers
that are blooming, while booming, from the field of night
like a dream, in November, of Springtime's delights.