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