Written: by Tom Wright
The stench of torched grass fills the air,
I fathom not the devastation being done.
Perhaps from a smoker who didn’t care,
Or a trash fire ignited by a negligent one.
I visualize hay that some rancher has lost,
Lying charred, after the expense of bailing;
To the beef you buy this will escalate cost,
Because calmer heads weren’t prevailing;
The smoke formerly black is turning grey,
The firemen should be doing their thing.
Fighting a prairie fire is not child’s play,
Neither are matches a child’s plaything.
Copyright © Tom Wright | Year Posted 2016