Wildfire 
 
As embers travel, new ones start 
Where trees perch old and dead. 
As fires burn the little left, 
Not much is filled with dread. 
 
And though some pain may live in ashes, 
Nothing gold can stay. 
No one discerns the burning vice, 
Because the hapless creatures escape. 
 
The older trees do shed a tear  
To die in love and not in vain; 
Now space has cleared for younger seeds, 
And fire has perished, dragging rain. 
 
The rich in soil only came 
From a hecatomb offer of the dead: 
After months and years and days and days, 
A beauty–rests in nature's sway!