My Spot

Every morning

I come back to my spot,

Where the trees sway backwards and forwards,

Lightly shading me from the light.

But one day I return

To find my spot gone,

Instead a high rise building

That blocks out all the sun.

Then out of nowhere

A red glow appears,

That in the end

Has my paws blistered and singed.

My paws are full

Of my teardrop shaped tears

For I have lost my special spot

Thanks to deforestation.

My paws are covered in soot,

My eyes are now blood spots,

I’m blind and bound to die soon,

Thanks to Australia’s bushfires.