The smoke will rise
As the ash will fall,
I look to the hill
To see a crimson wall.
The infernal tongue licks the trees, It burns the trees and roasts the fleas.
I stand beneath the fiery gloam,
I beg: Please, Don’t take my home.
The wind blows it toward the bush, turning all the fruit to mush.
It comes faster up the hill,
Yet I can still feel a horrible chill.
The clouds cover a patch of greens, The scarlet terror does what it means. The wild creature is not yet tame.
The hills, the mountain, all draped in flame.
The firefighters no, they will not come, We fight it ourselves until we’re numb.
The Embers sleep through the night, with not a clue, or a single fright.
She wakes to see the landscape changed. It showed us mercy, it seems so strange.

For all those who survived the wildfires of Portugal, and all those who were lost. x