Catherine

The trees are bent,

The bushes are flat.

No lenience has been lent,

Dead leaves scurry like a rat.

Flower stems have been broken,

And a stream flows no more.

No health can they summon,

They are like trash on the floor.

Most animals stay silent,

They see their homes are done.

But a few are not content;

They see damage and refuse to run.

Instead they look for what can be regrown,

And sow the seeds which become hope,

This very slowly grows on its own

With strength like a drowning man tossed a rope.

And like that trees soon stand tall,

Bushes rise from the now thriving roots.

A helping hand is given to all,

From the ashes a phoenix shoots.