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Smolder

Each branch and twig and needle green,
A cut across the frigid seam.
Each star a burn and smoke and haze,
A plight upon the clear blue days.
Treetops burning- branches flames,
And smoke and fog laid out the plains.
 
Gazing out with vision keen,
Embracing the fate of destruction.

Those of us awake wait to see who is left.
Written by Tristitude
Published
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