An Alien Place

Our scorched earth erupts into belligerent flames, Fanned by the wind, they sweep very fast down the plain, They seem to delight, in their playing of these games, When blue skies can deliver no deluge of rain. Burnt down and blackened, all the tree trunks stand stark, Leaving this wide landscape like an alien place, Smoke billowing, the harsh flames start licking the bark, Like huge hungry tongues that fear forfeiting the race. Hastening onwards, with a strong wild winning urge, With impetus, flora and fauna devouring, Stripping the land bare, as it starts on its mad surge, This fire, that has come to be so overpowering. These flames ever feeding, engulf at such a speed, Everything in their wake, is now changed into dust, But from this devastation, each tiny new seed, Will shoot new once again from this earth's ravaged crust. © Ernestine Northover