fire-flowers
and only where the forest fires have sped,
scorching relentlessly the cool north lands,
a sweet wild flower lifts its purple head,
and, like some gentle spirit sorrow-fed,
it hides the scars with almost human hands.
and only to the heart that knows of grief,
of desolating fire, of human pain,
there comes some purifying sweet belief,
some fellow-feeling beautiful, if brief.
and life revives, and blossoms once again.
by emily pauline johnson (1861 - 1913)
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