Crusty brown mud covers injured soil
stopping the red roses from blooming.
Shovels pry at the ground
desperate to feel the thorns.

Tortured and torn;
the dirt is slowly dying
as roses roll down hills
leaving trails of red petals.

Staring above;
Enjoying the sensation
Loving the beauty
And fighting the desire to continue.

Calm winds carry voices;
Quickly the petals are washed away
and roses are plucked
as new mulch hides
The abused soil.

Watch the dirt heal
Wait for the chance
Take the shovel
And dig up the red roses
Relish in the thorns
And repeat the damage.