Metaphorical

I see the hills, still burning with embers 
From a flame that just won't die 
The vales are full of blackened dread 
As if the canvas of the dead 
Even the mightiest trees have fallen 
They are but withered husks 
I cannot even see the sky 
For the clots of smoke are as dirty rags 
But as I look upon the tortured ground 
I see a ray of green 
A plant has grown, beyond all means 
And it is there, hope sits and dreams 
 
In Memory Of J.D. and to N.R. always stay hopeful

Hope In The Fire