Seeds should never be planted.
Yet we insist on fire orchards.
A maze of terrain
Creates ash-dusted corners.

Let fire burn to others.
Soot falls soft, cushions the ground.
Two trees are made one by red leaf,
Burn to share every plant around.

Wet leaves extinguish flames.
There is no bringing back.
The fire forever gone.
Vibrant red to black!

The branches intertwine;
As do the roots below.
When the fire burns the branch
The share leaf too must go.

Most trees let roots die:
No water, dried up, cracked, and then dust.
The Flame Willow has eternal roots;
The branches are weak, but roots shine through the rust.

The willow hardly burns.
(The branches are the easy problem to see.)
Wet, bent over, hung down low,
No where close to the fire of other trees.

But the roots stay strong,
Nurtured by memory beneath the ground.
All the fire gone, the memories stay.
This is why the Flame Willow's branches hang down.

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