21 July 2020
My muse is capricious
She taunts me from sleep
In the pre-dawn hour
Where the what-ifs creep
What if they’d had some warning?
What if there was water that morning?
What if there was no back burning?
What if, instead, there was listening and learning?
What if they were on their own?
What if there was time for things from our home?
What if the RFS was there?
What if there was someone to care?
What if someone had looked?
What if there were resources, not elsewhere booked?
What if they’d seen it, not yet lost?
What if there was not the terrible cost?
What if they’d used the abundant tank water?
What if I’d stayed to help, like a good daughter?
What if they’d stayed to fight?
What if they’d not made it through?
You know what my muse?
I don’t always like you.