Visible only as a bleeding hoof,
Blackened from the flames that consumed his home.
No one lives here now.
He must have been injured not to run with the rest,
Or penned in by the flames after sleeping too late.
I think he must have blessed the tree that fell and
Ended him quickly before he burned,
For I know I would have.
I place the daisy chain I made on the way across his tomb,
A splash of yellow and white on relentless black.
He was the only one in the forest when the tree fell.
I wonder if it made a sound.