Firgus the Wattlebury Lumberjack was hard at work in the forest. Well we didn't actually know he was until we saw plumes of smoke billowing through the sky. And being curious, nay - a tad nosey, we tripped along to see what he was doing. He told us that he was felling some very tall fir trees on the Wattlebury Estate and warned us not to get too near to his bonfire as we may end up roasted! With that he threw his head back and guffawed. Strange sense of humour, that Firgus.
 |  |
 |  |
It was jolly hot and soon we returned to our farm with red cheeks and wattles. Susie got her little notebook out and wrote a poem as she felled sorry for the Fir Trees.
Ode to the Firs
The grey clouds turned amber, an apricot hue
Then dark and foreboding - of dun and ecru.
The fir trees they crackled and sizzled and charred
Like an exploding inferno, a red fusillage.
Once noble and proud, they slumped to the earth
And the fire she fizzled with chuckles of mirth.
by Susie Sebright
The grey clouds turned amber, an apricot hue
Then dark and foreboding - of dun and ecru.
The fir trees they crackled and sizzled and charred
Like an exploding inferno, a red fusillage.
Once noble and proud, they slumped to the earth
And the fire she fizzled with chuckles of mirth.
by Susie Sebright