Autumn time in Essex where we drove
When farmers burned the stubble of the corn
The earth itself was fiery like young love
The smokey air rose like a cloud new born
The Kentish landlocked cliffs are wide and steep
The farmers grow their grain on land beneath
And there too we have seen the holy fire
The flames and smoke arrest me with desire
The earth and soil, the harvest we find there
Give me joy both full of wheat or bare
Why did burning stubble make me glow?
These images affect the heart’s deep core
Now fires are banned., they damage our pure air
And I did not like the murder of the hare