Heathland

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.

Defiant,
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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