A poem by Inkdropk in response to the prompt
Scorched
The park grass in Greater Manchester looked a little different
November 6th 2016
The morning after the night before
when children watched with awe
at the colourful spectacle
appearing in front of enlightened eyes
The air laced with the smell of Gunpowder
Guido Fawkes’ ghost smiling away
Cinders of wood sit in circles
where warming flames once stood
there’s now stillness, smoke and silence
in the early hours of a cold winters day
as dampened embers force out
The last traces of the bonfires life
a large black and silvery circle
set in a sea of green
The Inkwell 
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