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Cycle

When the fire crackles by
in its wake is left a trail
of charred bark burnt grass and
soot-smeared stones
Past the breathless heat, in the
living flames galloped
creatures, wide-eyed, winged
high or trampled low
Now they remain in
charcoal memories, as black
crumbles in a graveyard haunted
by the souls of trees
as spirits in the branches
they watch from lofty perches and
empty rabbit holes, from
the skeleton of their home as
life unfolds anew

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