The fire burns each morning in the garden
the neighbours talk, share coffee and bread
Collecting so much firewood is a feat
performed by the unflagging Gillian
who at the wheel of a powerful ute
combs the suburbs for discarded wood
Liz from upstairs brings few supplies
says she lives in the sky, but she spots
occasional fuel nearby and sends news,
later might help to stack the sliced pallets
It’s Gillian who collects and chops
then lights a blaze under the fading stars
They never stint to throw on more wood
and give thanks to the sun, to fabulous fire