Sun burnt the earth’s bed.
Green to red everything turning dead.
As it drew closer to earth.
Birds tweet, what’s it worth?
After innumerable years,
The Old oak lost its last leaves.
Ever silently slipped into death.
And broke it’s silken life thread.
When it seemed that all hope was lost,
Only God could save us from this Holocaust.
Then lightning stuck and the clouds roared.
Rain followed with a lascivious kiss.
After a bit of request,
Oak raised from the dead.
I danced on those drops,
And build my nest on its big branches.
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