I have a friend who is new to the delights of a log burning stove. Recently he stacked some logs next to it. He discovered later that it was possibly not the best idea he’d ever had. I have to admit at this point that I have been known, more than once, to have invited the attendance of a big red truck with blue flashing lights to a chimney in the house (I haven’t suddenly come over all self-righteous but had to admit that before you all heard it from Paul the fireman!). So rather than throw stones in my glasshouse I’ll be using the first person to spare his blushes…
I chopped some logs, my brow I did mop,
My sharpened axe, chop, chop, chop!
I stacked the logs behind the shed.
By this time my face was red!
I carried some in, walked (not drove),
Stacked them by my wood-burning stove!
Later that night I went to bed.
“Can I smell burning?” to my wife I said!
I went downstairs, there by the pyre,
The wood I’d carried, glowing with fire!
Out through the door, naked, I threw,
Smouldering logs into the night-time dew!
If you saw me, please, stifle a yawn,
That explains the burnt patch out on the lawn!
The moral of the tale is this:
A hot log-burner may be bliss.
But just make sure,
Whatever you do,
Stack the logs well away,
From a very hot flue!
© Baldock Bard 2013
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