The native garden here in Oz
Is a mass of crisp brown leaves because
The pernicious sun dries up their veins
And they can’t survive without the rains.
As summer often means a drought
With Northern winds that bring about
A murmur in the peel-bark trees
Suburban yards are full of leaves.
A daily chore - these leaves sun-kissed
Present a lethal fire risk
A chance spark on a windy day
And a wall of flame may come your way!
A total fire ban is in force
Until the summer’s run its course
The haunting beauty of the Hills
Has a darker side – as fire kills.
(c) Poet in the woods 2014