Every so often a book I see
That once I had upon my shelf
Opposite the fireplace that would never draw
Smoking out the room and myself
Who, standing swearing in the January cold
Before the event that brought the roof down,
And people to their feet at the sight of smoke
And flashing blue lights from Arvagh town
And further, I heard, to dampen the flames,
Caused by the shelves of books ablaze
And all else that fuelled the flames that lit the sky
That I see somewhere these days.
“I must buy that again” I to myself vow
Sometimes I do and add to more
That are on my shelves elsewhere only to find
I brought another copy where
I had forgotten: most are replaced
But not the windows on that little cottage there
Or doors – even the new roof is wrong
the harder you try – fate doesnt care.
But shelves again I bring in
And upon them my new books put to stand
An older and less hopeful man
Place them one by one by one by hand.
Wonder how the fire was lit
Ponder by who and why
I hope to see the new chimney draw better then
Into the freezing night sky.