Flaming Trees

Tree tops burning, 

crisp colours of crimson and gold, 

slowly melt,

dripping leaves

spin lazy circles to the ground 

and the the mound 

of rotting corpses. 

What say you, trees? 

With burning colours bright,

Of you endless phoenix cycle

of fiery death and rebirth? 

Do you ever tire, year after year 

of the same graceful dance?