And the trees and burrows fell,
The fauna, they scurried from their losses
And wept for their young and ill.
The sun stayed up, the wind stood still
And I saw not one ashen quake
But I know for a fact that some were inside
And died for honor's sake.
The blackened hell of nature's fury
Washed upon the snow
And the wretched glanced up to the sky
And cursed the tragic inferno.
I sing to them, the meek and dead
The souls who will never rebuild
Their civilization that flourished and died
Atop the wooded hill.
Through the nights, the creatures entered
The charred and wretched site
Where before, they frolicked
And easily slept at night.
We weep for these misfortunate souls,
Those without a home,
We turn our heads in sorrow,
And write it in our poems.
As when all the world was young
And all the leaves of green
And all the world was a song
And sparkled, crystal clean.
But now the world is old,
And every tree is brown
And every hope is static
And homes are all burnt down.
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