it was the end of her days,
and when she looked back,
there was only ash;
she’d left a path of it,
like the breadcrumbs of her life

but there was no sadness in that –
all her life,
her heart had burned for what it loved

-image via Pinterest

35 thoughts on “Ash

  1. Your poem fits with a concept I learned from my friends who work in forestry. Some trees — pines of some kind, it’s been years for me — require fire to replicate. The cones won’t open without the heat. And sometimes it’s the charred land that surprises us with the rapidity of regrowth. Ash is part and parcel with fertile soil. Nice write!

    Liked by 1 person

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