Just a hot spot, that is all,
A spot of hot, beneath an ash,
A tiny dot that is red hot,
Hardly worth a second glance.
To lift the ash from off that hot spot
Comes a gentle, stirring breeze,
A puff, a gust, is all it takes,
And the hot red dot is teased.
Teased enough to become a spark,
Oh so tiny - but alive,
Grabbing, grasping, gulping air,
Oh yes, that spark will thrive.
The breeze resolves into a zephyr,
Then, 'wind' becomes its name,
The tiny spark is so encouraged,
It changes, too, into a flame.
Cavorting, dancing now with rhythm
And with darting, thrusting moves,
From adagio to flamenco,
A full fire now is fused.
Trembling creatures smell the smoke,
Run, run - little forest friends!
No no - not that way - this way!
And you must run faster than the winds.
Frenzy - mass hysteria,
Former natural enemies
Become best friends in flight.
Higher, higher grows the fire,
Hear the roaring sound,
Is that the devil laughing?
This is now his pleasure ground.
Wider, wider spread the flames,
First, by acre - then, by mile,
Black by day - red by night,
Satan dances - Satan smiles.
Across the ridge, then to the flatlands,
Homes now put in danger,
Get your things! Hurry! Pack!
There is panic, fear, and anger.
Get the horses! Get the dogs!
Forget milady's keepsakes,
Life and limb in peril now,
Anything that breathes - just take!
The sky is black; all blue is gone,
And it's just the noon time hour,
Dear God, please stop that wind,
And send us heaven's showers.
Firefighters are alerted,
From all around they come,
With shovels, ropes, and cables
To fight this son-of-a-gun.
Up the hillsides come the crews,
Planes with water overhead,
'Hang on guys, we'll get that sucker,
We don't want nobody dead!'
The fighters pull twelve hour shifts,
Some pull even longer,
It seems with every flame that's quenched,
Another just grows stronger.
Bodies taxed beyond endurance,
Faces blackened - covered with grime
Onward, upward fight those Angels,
Holding back the fire line.
How many hours, days, or weeks,
Before the winds subside?
How much havoc will be wrought?
How many men will stay alive?
The battle wages on and on,
They gain and lose and lose and gain,
Until, as if by miracle,
It seems the fire is contained.
One thanks God upon one's knees,
That those wild winds are stilled,
But how does one thank Live Angels
How does one thank those heroes,
Not even known by name,
Who gave themselves so selflessly
To save all from the flames.
Their real reward, I do suspect,
Will not come on this earth,
But one day they'll have crowns of gold,
God aware of each man's worth.
The dawn breaks; the sky is blue,
Man and creature come back home,
A gentle breeze now spreads new seeds,
And a white dove chaperones.
~Virginia (Ginny) Ellis~
World of Poetry
From adversity and tragedy comes
spirit of man that we can all be
Over the past few months our countries
been tested to the limit both by
On both occasions there is one breed
I hold in awe. They are the FIREMEN
the volunteers, that leave everything
they hold dear
to help their fellow man. With no
thought for their
own welfare, they go beyond the
realms of expectation.
I wanted to do something special
for these heroes,
but I felt I couldn't do them justice,
so I asked two of
my dearest friends to help me with
a poem and a page.
They were both thrilled to help,
I know they share my
feelings just as millions of others
Australia and America......
I thank Janie and Ginny for their
and I thank the FIREMEN & WOMEN
for their gallant unselfish efforts.
Sincerely and Humbly