Wednesday, 18 April 2012

Lignite by Andrew McCallum Crawford

You dig it up.
It’s been buried for years –
millions of them.
It used to be trees.
They must have been beautiful.

You burn it.
The smoke makes patterns.
Dark blue on sky blue.
People see things.
Beautiful things.
Some people
claim to see trees.

Others stare into the ashes
Trying to rekindle the memory
Of a moment’s warmth.



6 comments:

mybabyjohn/Delores said...

Oh my....calls to mind the coal fires of my youth.

Karen said...

This is really nice. I grew up in the coalfields of West Virginia, USA, and this reminds me of that.

Jenifer said...

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buy rift account said...

Cute! That was really lovely.

Gillena Cox said...

always a dilema that one when tree perish accidentally or wilfully

lovely poem


much love...

Andrea McBride said...

Very nice. Love the last stanza.