View from the Firehills

High summer's fervid scrying
Behold the high cliffs burn
The kindling winds defying
Green lings to purple turn

Horizon's far contusion
As black brume'd bowlders fall
In dull deranged profusion
Their frozen vapour'd squall

Low country's suffocation
Unbounded glebe-land grass
Vast cellulose creation
A weir of emerald glass