Long learned Wisdom
Lighting scorches fresh fields of bloomin buds
Their innocent pink petals singed by sparks of the electric blaze
The Old man sitting on the porch of his past and destined home
Watches the pasture he has always watched
The one that he ran through years ago
The one that the wind would sweep across and kiss his cheek
With the smells of ribbons and curls
The same wind now plunders through the valley
Remaining him of the chases of evil that he narrowly escaped
As the blazed approaches
He does not budge from his chair
He stairs into the flames and sips his coffee
For he knows that
Flowers and flames may cause pains
But only he and God know where lightning will strike a tree
The thunder rolls and bowls like a child throwing a tantrum,
but even The child stops in remembrance of a burning pain on his bosom
Lighting may strike, but God cracks his whip to tell the light to return
The man’s eyes reflect the roaring glow with a stern gaze into the soul of the blaze
For even the fiercest wildfires are cowardice of water