The Bushfire

Like a sharp dagger,

A blade forged of fire and smoke,

Cutting through the tree’s thick hide,

It splits the canopy with a brutal need,

The green skin snaps like a frayed rope,

And the forest’s flesh is seen,

The blood seeps out of the open wound,

Trickling down its side,

Setting the forest

And its world alight,

A crevice; a cut; a gash,

Then all is swallowed,

In the fire’s maw.

The red trees grey,

The inferno dies out,

Ashes blanketing the ocean of trees,

Over the carnage and death.

Then from the ashes,

A seedling breaks through,

Green in the sea of grey.