Here is a short poem I wrote earlier whilst I was at work.
I think it’s a bit rough and not thought out well but I like the image it conjures in my mind.
My apologies for the title. It feels a bit pretentious.
Burning, blistering on a heated night
The flames ascend to kiss the leaves
To bring down the parents and help raise their children
Tearing down what is old can allow the new to rise
They sink into an inferno
They fall into an ocean of fire
They do not resist
They allow it to happen.
When ash encompasses the land
When the cinders are dying off
When those few remaining are burned but standing
The leaves of the fresh sprouts shall reach out and grow