By: Lydia Crow


A fire scorched
the heath last night.

A burst of flame
cast a shadow as far
as the eye could see;
leaving a changed land
in its wake.

A numbing, a pause.

But even as we looked,
hearts hollow,
buds appeared again.

There was no struggle
to grow and heal.
They did what they always did,
flourished, despite.

they pushed on through;
petals bursting open,
every colour more vibrant
than before.

The blackened earth
still lies beneath,
but now there is a meadow
to soothe the scar;
a proliferation of love.

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