Smoldering deep in dry dust undergrowth,
Hardly a whisper of curling smoke,
Not to be seen, a mote.
So slight its scent on steaming noses.
Wildfire! The conflagration
Flames to heaven from heath,
Darkens the very sun
And sterilizes scorched earth.
Leaves ash of rue where forest grew.
Stampeding feet flee before its mirth.

As the faintest zephyr,
Almost a caress on trembling leaf and grassy flower,
Precedes the wildest raging storm
To bend the tallest trees,
Breaks those who don't conform,
Whips oceans into wild spinning cloud
To pelt the shores with power.