I, who have seen Times Square,
Rivers of light, red and white,
On twelve lane superhighways,
The glitter of nightside earth from seven miles high,
With never a quiver,
Woke one night alone in deep country
To see a single light bulb burning
In the darkness of the facing hillside,
And I panicked,
Thinking that the earth was burning.
Now the sea ice is melting,
And England may become as cold as Sweden
From these fires we have lit.
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