"Against Advice"
for Veronica Furner
Her apple tree felled
Became logs for our fire.
Let them dry out she said
And use them next year.
As I stacked them I noted
Their moist mottled bark
But my usual impatience
Soon put them to work.
Reluctant to kindle
They sizzled and spat
Like the right words in waiting
But not ready yet.
Then after a while
Smoke turned into flame
And with sudden combustion
The poem came.
--John Mole
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