Nathan Hassall writes

The Orchestra

Tonight, in the bitter air,

the Orchestra surrenders to the wind's falsettos,
a gale-struck dirge hurls from nature's throat.
the debris of ash-trees swirl
high into the air

shimmering dust
is lit up in the blood-red sonatas
of Earth's natural satellite

the Orchestra huddles close
in the woeful night silence
emptiness rears its repulsive head
buries itself in the devil's day-work.

damaged instruments
poke out,
pluck and wheeze
from their gluttonous graves

In the distance,
nighttime meadows are full of crackling fires,
endless rows of scintillating crops
dictate the summarising crescendo:

~the blast furnace Earth
chokes the land to drought~