Twirling with the wind
Spiraling upwards through air
A dance of its own because of no cares.
A lifeless being
Yet a being is not
A simple bi-product
Of burning this stuff.

Yet beautiful she is
Yes I call it a she
Because in my mind
She is only a tree.

Not a threat or harm,
Or worthy of the bearing arms,
She loves to be burned
Under the glowing stars.
And as the silhouettes dance in the night
I watch them live a freely life.