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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=369100" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Burning Off</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=369100" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">They're burning off at the Rampadells,<br>The tawny flames uprise,<br>With greedy licking around the trees;<br>The fierce breath sears our eyes. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=369100" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">From cores already grown furnace-hot -<br>The logs are well alight!<br>We fling more wood where the flameless heart<br>Is throbbing red and white. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=369100" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The fire bites deep in that beating heart,<br>The creamy smoke-wreaths ooze<br>From cracks and knot-holes along the trunk<br>To melt in greys and blues. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=369100" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The young horned moon has gone from the sky,<br>And night has settled down;<br>A red glare shows from the Rampadells,<br>Grim as a burning town. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=369100" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Full seven fathoms above the rest<br>A tree stands, great and old,<br>A red-hot column whence fly the sparks,<br>One ceaseless shower of gold. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=369100" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">All hail the king of the fire before<br>He sway and crack and crash<br>To earth - for surely tomorrow's sun<br>Will see him white fine ash. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=369100" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The king in his robe of falling stars,<br>No trace shall leave behind,<br>And where he stood with his silent court,<br>The wheat shall bow to the wind.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Dorothea+Mackeller">Dorothea Mackeller</a></strong></div>

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