The Spin of Fate

A fiery tree,
Dust flows through the night.
The crow sings,
The nightingale cries.

Little Ava tosses in her bed thrice,
Haunted by yesterday night's bright sky
And the nightingale's song.
Had she now observed
What she liked to call
The spin of fate's wheel?

As she awoke all at once,
She saw what a spectacle awaited her,
For suddenly, the tree stood lush,
And the crow was nowhere near.

Oh, how the wheel has spun, dear!

If only little Ava knew
That the crow wept
And the tree was still grey,
For the fire had destroyed all that it had.
But that is a secret I will hide from her.