Hope

Underneath the smallest Gulmohar tree,
I saw the most enormous fire,
Withering the leaves stem and trunk,
It burnt the plant’s high desire.

Wind blew the brown leaves away,
The stem stood there all dark and grey,
Left in the summer heat to simmer,
It had lost to the hot blazes’ ire.

More wrong I couldn’t have been.
Soon I saw a small new green leaf’s sheen.
I know now even massive fire can’t cope,
With that little thing called … hope.