Soil

Rose. You burst into the garden

like a rebel, waving your red flag

staking your claim

as if the earth should bend

to your fire, your fierce bloom.

It was never meant to be a battlefield.

Any garden should be

a place of quiet negotiations,

where the lilies offer their peace,

soft spoken, pale as moonlight,

where the daisies hold their joy

like a secret shared in the dark,

and the tulips, rise each year

to meet the uncertain dawn.

You can’t swallow the sun

and expect the world to keep spinning.