Fires rage all around,
Today our bushland is filled with sound,
Crackling and breaking,
Branches fall, the Earth is quaking.
Blackened trees are all that's left,
Our beautiful bushland laid to rest.
The smell of smoke, still in the air,
The damage here is beyond repair.
Best move on,
From this land, now gone.
What was alive and luscious is now dead,
With dry soil and trees of lead.
YOU ARE READING
The Inner Emotions of an Amateur.
PoetryJust a collection of poems that I wrote to show my feelings and those of the people around me. Nothing major, but still check it out and tell me what you think.
