Flames of deceit engulfed the vast fields of my heart.
Composed of slender dry blades of trust and love; that danced to that old song together like watching sea of hopeless romance.

The blazing fire grew hastily; greedily feeding.
Leaving no survivors.

All of my fields reduced to wisps of ash in a mere instant. The grains are no more and the harvest shall yield no food this season.

Fearing the worst, I prepare for the work ahead to replenish my crop. In good time, the new growth will sprout. If I am patient, if I tend with care, I will confidently provide an abundance of new produce.

Insurmountable quantity and resilient to the elements.

I say, sometimes the brushfire must be burned in order for new growth to take its place.
Remaining ever vigilant and keeping the inferno from ruining my fields again.