Autumn Bushfire

The shrivelling crimson-coloured leaves

Tear way from their ailing branches,

To one by one relieve the tree

Freed, now a nude canvas.

The Poet who watches from afar

Smiles at the hopeless flora,

Trapped, suffocated by black smoke

Sapling murdered by her own Mother.

The choking mist discriminates not,

destruction to which there is no jury.

The blood-red bath of autumn leaves

are charred, aflame in fury.


About Alana Mitchelson

Alana Mitchelson is a journalist based in Melbourne, Australia. Follow her on Twitter at @AlanaMitchelson.

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