Spring, Once Moor

Earth; living, breathing; possession

Fields of my forest ablaze

Blood of mankind; soot and ashen

Flames lick the lands as they graze

Smoke rises; flickering tendrils

Stench of the life wasting way

Tears gather; storm against evils

Rain sheds my soul on dismay

Soil, scarred and battered, now fragile

Receives not my cries; flooded; drenched

Ash of the flora once fertile

Parched and corroded; unquenched

Bitter, where once dwelt immortal

Spring never failed, though asunder

Death, now, by fire’s example

Echoes my angst; clapping thunder

Tender and weak, will find healing

Revolutions of time, slowly yields

Bruised by the heat and once reeling

First bud of wildflowers; Moor fields