She was a willow

bending, a tearful beauty

rooted and serene

He was the lightning,                                                           

much too bright for his own good

strong and destructive

They were like fireworks,

quick great bursts, a show that leaves

only smoke and ash

He's still the lightning

off scorching another's path

She's still a willow

burned, broken, a blackened heart

but alive, her roots run deep