Seething anger has burned down the barn
Where iniquity wove its amber curtains
On vintage looms of deceit and falsehood
Skylarks can’t nest there anymore
And the creek is poorer for it

The harvester is grounded and
The scythe lies in the ashes and the brambles.

The Almanac forecasted heavy rain
But the wind instead blew from the East
And was impossible to batten down
Now things once wet are very dry and cracking

There’s naught to load and take to market
Where tears won’t buy the milk and butter
And there’s no one left to bake the bread

Hurry up those stumbling feet
Wishing won’t create a cow
And you don’t own a pasture
Or a salt lick anyway

The only thing that you have left
Is an igneous tomorrow and incendiary dreams
                      ..  ljm ..