The Grove

The fires are burning, and alight the sky… With a sinister shade of red,

Watching with a weary eye… This warning sign ahead,

Stepping softly, gently now… Into the shadow of a silent grove,

Caressed by eager boughs… Escaping from the glow,

Done with flames that sear my heart… I search for peace and calm,

When claws of thought tear me apart… The trees will be my balm

 

 

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