Wood, leaves, tree, sky
The brittle tree bends in the wind

As it has been burned under the nights veil
Fire had raged through its lands destroying

But do not loose hope of growth
Maybe the ancient ones are gone

But do not wail,
As to know

That young trees,
the saplings of hope

They will save the peaceful forest
From all of the destruction and hurt

The fire has burnt all around them,
destroyed until the moon wailed and the sun cried

Yet, in that fire the saplings rise,
You burn the world down, but they are the alive
And they raise their branches high