The Fire
A fiery ripple grew and grew
Across the mountainside.
On windy gusts small embers blew
And rode an airy slide.
My mountain burned, engulfed in red;
The dry brush fed its rage.
All animals and people fled;
For this thief there's no cage.
The mossy beds and lofty trees
Were left dead in its wake.
I only hope that Heaven sees
And damns this fiery lake.
Some men who took a stand have died;
Still quiv'ring is my lip.
Remember all the men who tried
To stop this monster's trip.
