when the town burned down.

It frowned beneath a hazy cloud,

A silence thick, the sky unbowed.

Dawn staggered in on shattered knees,

Mournful tones rode ghostly breeze.

The wind bore secrets, torn and loud—

A mourning wrapped in twilight’s shroud.

The dawn chorus began its cry,

Shrill echoes spiraled in the sky.

“They say,” one whispered, “this is grace—”

But sorrow spilled in every place.

A mockingbird, its feathers torn,

Lay lifeless where the light was born.

No lullabies, no flapping wings,

Just fire devouring gentler things.

The town crier, pale with fright,

Chanted warnings through the night:

“Awake, arise! The flames descend!”

But few believed it was the end.

Brick by brick, the skyline fell—

Ashes rose where stories dwell.

And fire, it was, that crowned the dawn—

For by its light, the town was gone.

©Bunguswa™