The Burn
by Maralee Gerke

A spark.
A flare.
A creeping fire.
A wall of flame.

Virgin hillsides wildflower dotted meadows,
canopy and understory
disappear beneath a smoky pall,
scarred destruction left behind.

Ash fills the air
Remnants of flower, fern, tree and shrub,
So small they wound our eyes.
Pieces of forest scattered on the wind.

All that remains, are the whispers of the Earth dying.



 

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