Saturday, December 6, 2008

Fire

The smoldering fire
catches a stray leaf
and spreads
like a virus,
persistent and deadly.

The grass,
dry from decades
of inattention
ignites in an instant,
consuming everything.

The terrain
returns once again
to smoldering.

The ash
blows
in
my face.

2 comments:

TACParent said...

Wow, but remember ... new life comes. Without pruning (and this means fires too, ask the forests), we would not grow.

Dymphna (4HisChurch) said...

True. Very true. Thanks!

Poems © Gemma W. Wilson