Fire And Rain (Poetry)

There was once a fire here —
where a few charred ends of logs remain
a scorch of earth now healing —
grass scabs slow across
what had been raw
disguising wounded turf

Weeds like spectators
crane small crowds of flowers
edge forward to the spot
an ant dashes over
braves the lack of cover
as though on a dare

But there’s little danger now —
it seems an age ago
the flame had power here
the burnt patch like a dream
of passing rage and orange quenched
by soothing green

Thus fire becomes a memory
akin to pain and war —
the ghost of smoke
and ruined wood
lost among new leaves
erased by rain