The trees have been destroyed,
and along with them their tale of sorrow.
Dreams and nightmares recorded, now lost,
but for the pain they brought.
The canyons are filled with dust
and desert weeds thrive where once
an oasis burst forth.
Fire consumes the leaves
on which the phoenix was born,
and the ancient bird glides overhead,
casting a shadow over the glowing embers.
The young warriors beat the ground with their callused feet,
ignorant of the battle already lost where they stand with pride,
nervous and adrenalized for the encounter.
They need not fight.
Struck down our leader goes silently in the past.
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