The Waratah

Fire
It spreads behind a smoky veil,
like a flood of flames, consuming the land.
It destroys and kills, leaving the air smoky and stale,
Burning, killing the plants, leaving nothing but ash.

Ash
A blanket of black, the quiet after the storm,
like the aftermath of a battle, or the eerie silence of a grave.
The echoes of fire still linger, with embers on the ground still warm.
The plants are limp, dead, or not yet so...

Green
It flourishes, strengthened by the flames, the life after death
Like a phoenix rising from the ash that introduced the life.
Bursting through the ground, breathing, after holding its breath.
While small, it is certain, may life grow again.

Waratah
It glows, ever so slightly, like the way the embers sparkled with life
Majestic and beautiful, like the fire, like home.
The flames burnt but kill it did not, it helped grow the flowers and wildlife.
The memory of fire, the mark of ash, the joy of green, and the waratah in my backyard.