Lotess Minor sat and wept
amongst the burning trees that kept
his leafy bits from touching Earth
and his winding roots from finding dirt.
Now upon the stones he's set
and fretting is as much he'd get
from all the noxious smoke and ash
expelled to air from cache stash.
Ruckus was the tune of morn'
and Lotess found his rudders torn
by mean old bugs and chiggers found
'low the grass and 'neath the ground.
His leafy mitts were pinhole chewed
as winds would whip the blaze renewed
and glowing fronds would sail on air
while Lotess couldn't move from there.
His thirst had waited none too long
and upon the touch of root to wrong
he settled in against his will
and panicked as he drank his fill.
Now the terms of need would take
as Lotess sat there trapped and drank.
The pillared heat was closing soon
while Lotess gorged from nigh to noon...