Early
Risen dawn-early to get about
the jobs that must be done
in pale thin ghost-light,
ice-coldness ,
an echoing emptiness, mocking
the night before
of fire-lit warmth and
conviviality
in the sharp, crisp-hard
silence of morning
each sound re-sounding, ringing
hollow
The chores of clearing up and
cleaning out the grey grate
of soot and cold embers, a
grim dismembered mess of cinders
the chill cold of metal brush
and pan, tar-blackened pokers and tongs,
the clang and scrape of the
battered ash bucket,
scratched and dirty shovel standing
at attention to do its duty
shifting clinkered residues, and
making way for the laying of new materials
for a future conflagration
Grimy newsprint , candle-ends
under criss-crossed kindling
cradling the careful stook of
splintered logs
creamy grain, hard-twisted
knots, backed by soft-lichened bark
of once-glorious greenwoods
rough-scabbed surfaces
scratching fingers and scuffing dirty knuckles
the colourless morning, bleak
and bleached,
leaching into harsher daylight
an involuntary shiver at the
deadness of things
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