Scorched, silent sentinels stand.
Stoic, stunned, submitting their sap,
Surrendering their souls
To the searing shooting stars of fire.
Now stripped of life’s desire,
Collateral damage in cataclysmic ire.
Black, burnt, beheaded,
Beaten, blazed, betrayed,
Our once flourishing forests,
Fauna, and faithful firefighters
Now furiously flayed.
Waiting, wishing for the welcome Wet,
Our teardrops seeking, beseeching
The heavens to open, and relent,
With rejuvenating, refreshing rain
To restore the forests, the earth,
Our shattered hopes and lives again.
© Bonnie Atteridge Jan 2020