6/23

Prompt: Write from the point of view of the last tree standing in the forest.

The Broken Hearted
 
The land all around me is barren and smells like death,
The smoke from the fires still linger,
Catching in my bark and taking my breath.
 
The animals are no longer nestled in my limbs,
After the skies turned black,
And the sun turned grim.
 
I can longer hear birds up above,
Or a green plant growing,
I no longer feel the trees I love.
 
The fire has taken everything but me,
The scene is too sad,
And I can only wonder what will be.
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