I dreamt of a burning forest.
A single spark ignited the terror.
Roaring flames consumed everything.
The hardiest trees have become brittle and dry.
The fields are brown and barren.
The wells bring forth only a trickle.
The burning sun is high above me.
Each night it sets in a cloudless sky.
My wish on the first star never changes.
Finally, there will be a storm at dusk.
As clouds fill the sky, my mood will lift.
Dare I look forward to the sunrise again?
Only then will my dreams become peaceful.
I don’t know when it will happen.
Nature is silent and gives me no clues.
William Wayne Smith
W. Wayne B. 