Ashes

Storm clouds did gather,

Flying fox did squeal.

The wind let out a whistle

And my skin began to peel.

Tall, eerie trees stood by,

With saw scars on their trunk.

They bordered the old sawmill,

With timber on every bunk.

The clouds grew thick and dark,

With lightening all around.

The place was dry as a match,

Not even grass on the ground.

Lightning struck a tree,

Set the whole place ablaze.

The woodcutter could do nothing,

Just stand back and gaze.

When the fire was out,

Only ashes and dust remained.

The woodcutter had lost everything.

But, Nature; it resumed its course

And finally regained.