Withering flower
Our house of freedom
Ruler of all
Glyphosate
Broad shouldered and bold
You give dry fertilizer
To those you hold
As followers
Blind mice with skitter
And crawl
And kick up dirt
But the dirt is perfect
A damp, warm brown
With nutrients and life
To cover up your chemicals
An army of men
Twenty-five million to spend
Is that true, I wonder
For you?
Eight wars you used your fertilizer
Complete and concluded
Untrue
Poisoned is the dirt beneath the warm soil
Beneath the warm lies
Beneath your warm turmoil
To kick up the glyphosate
The killer
The dead flowers
Is not sin, but regrowth for Him
“The home of the free”
As so it is told
Though banished are those
Who do not fit your ***
Do not fit your greenhouse
Withering flowers will rot
Your glyphosate
A closed door for most
A horror for us
Though you choose to boast
One day, some way
A flower will grow roots
Immune they are
To your glyphosate
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 9:08 AM UTC
Withering flower
Our house of freedom
Ruler of all
Glyphosate
Broad shouldered and bold
You give dry fertilizer
To those you hold
As followers
Blind mice with skitter
And crawl
And kick up dirt
But the dirt is perfect
A damp, warm brown
With nutrients and life
To cover up your chemicals
An army of men
Twenty-five million to spend
Is that true, I wonder
For you?
Eight wars you used your fertilizer
Complete and concluded
Untrue
Poisoned is the dirt beneath the warm soil
Beneath the warm lies
Beneath your warm turmoil
To kick up the glyphosate
The killer
The dead flowers
Is not sin, but regrowth for Him
“The home of the free”
As so it is told
Though banished are those
Who do not fit your ***
Do not fit your greenhouse
Withering flowers will rot
Your glyphosate
A closed door for most
A horror for us
Though you choose to boast
One day, some way
A flower will grow roots
Immune they are
To your glyphosate
Donald Trump will be glyphosate.
I am a thirteen-year-old poet attempting to voice things that others won't.