I see an amber sky
and fires blazing beyond the pale
I live under a tinfoil roof
its corners curling from the heat
Fields of wheat and barley
are lit with that final glow
singeing slowly
singing deeply
of the burn that frees
their earth-clung soul
Can you hear the melody
to which the wind dost blow
the dust and ash?
And hear the ending largo
and that final note?
In the end
when the land is scorched
a dry, cracked black
And the amber dims
deprived of fuel
What remains
but my tinfoil roof?
What remains
but I
to mark that final rest
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