An elder tree stands upright against an opposing blaze,
Painting the ancient tree with hues of a sunset,
Leaves of gold and burnt black.
A reticent bough on the elders arm,
Unwavers under the pressure of its dying brethren,
As the adolescent flames dance upward from their bearings.
Where silent genocide of the antiquated elder and seedlings prevailed, still,
Hope resides beneath the crackling ember.