Hopeful Sprout

One little spark lights up the forest.
It grows bigger and bigger as it climbs the poor trees,
oaks
cedars,
pines.
It devours the brown, dry leaves from Autumn.
It creates a path of burning, smoking ashes.
Hot,
smoldering
ashes.
They rise, 
some even become sparks like the first.
They grab ahold of nature and destroy it.
smoke,
gray
dark,
suffocating.
Tearing through the desperate forest
on a highway of demons.
The one,
innocent
tiny,
small,
little
spark,
lights up the night.
And then under the piles of dark ashes
a small,
tiny,
hopeful
happy,
​sprout pokes up into the nearing light,
and suddenly
the fire is quenched.