Fire, smoke,
Heathen folk,
I live my life in miniature.

Contusions eased with daisies,
Soapwort and from comfrey too;
Overtures for unguents.

Nature was once cause and cure
For every man-made affliction;
Long since fields and meadows too
Were ceded for a pound or two,
I’d appeal that you are sure
Of remedies we bore
For illnesses, and a new
Zoonotic dereliction.


All the fuel I’ll ever need,
Is stored within your one misdeed;

A weakened heart can sometimes leak,
Silenced tongues amongst the meek.

Counsellors then knew me so well
And locked me in a stony spell;

I did not have a crust to earn,
Paralysis tick in bracken fern.

All the fuel fends apathy,
Forms scherzos in a symphony;

I have this table where I’ll sit
And that is all for me to fit;

Every wrong that went before
Becomes a song or newfound lore;

To live as long as coelacanth,
Aconite blue and amaranth.