After the fire
After the screams
After the tire
The fear and the tears

A flower arose
A strong one indeed
It wasn’t a rose
Because it could bleed

It had thorns made of cotton
Delicate and dear
Roots like a baby’s hair
That no one could see

Its petals were soft
Colored two colors
Pearly ivory, charcoal black

The stem gave off light
A smoky gray shade
Only visible at night
Each leaf like a spade

This flower bloomed
Out of fire and ash
As volcanoes boomed
Leaving a soot stash

The people would run
The children were scared
For them the world spun
As the fires just flared

And so this lonely rare flower
Waited many phases of the moon
After the fiery shower
Whoever returned was thought a loon

Her beauty unseen
Because no one had thought that
This horrible scene
Would rise the Merolnat

So she waited patiently
With the promise of beauty
Still, and so silently
Hopelessly lonely

Then a day came
When a young little girl
While playing a game
Saw a root with a curl

She hid from her friends
And came near the flower
As if to company lend
But nearing the hour

Of her unfortunate death
The Malronat’s baby hair roots
Like masters of stealth
Constricted her with their shoots

The pretty, sharp leaves
With deadly poison
Cut though her sleeves
And poisoned her conscience

Then it dragged her dead
For nutrition it needs
And the flower stayed there
Creating more seeds