That fire, they said, was red as red as red
as red as a fox, your lips, a cherry;
that fire, they said spread and spread and spread,
faster than a cheetah or a nasty rumour;
that fire, they said, was hot, so hot, so hot,
hotter than lava or an African summer.
That fire, they said, was angry, very angry.
For three roaring days, it danced wildly, wildly, wildly.
Wild as flamenco, strip the willow, a Highland fling.
That fire, they said, had a big bad mouth,
swearing, spluttering, ‘Bring it on! Bring it on!’
That fire, they said, wolfed down the lot –
the lovely little homes, the trees, the land.
That fire, they said, left nothing behind at all:
one blackened trail, one sad scorched story.
From Red Cherry Red.
performing this poem – what different effects can you make with the repeating words?
finding out more about bush fires.