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