Clouds and Crowns No.5

The overture of forests, dead, remade,
Whispers pianissimo through leaves.
Although the burnt-out wilderness still grieves
And ashen dust hangs densely in the shade,
The smallest stems of green, a micro-glade,
Peek out through fire-black trunks in smoky breeze,
The first-fruits of our chlorophyll reprieves,
The peaceful eye after the storm is paid.
All this shakes truth into my watching eye,
A child-explorer longing for new lands.
As eucalypts bring me back to the earth
And disappointment whimpers like a sigh,
Green miracles are woven by Your hands
And I am caught by wonders of new birth.