are the roses the poses of *** scented
posies daffodils the  long stems of grass
the moss the rutting of rabbits
in the field(s) without
ravaging man's hands and intrusions

If we were more the masters might
we plant more hibiscus or petunias
or forget-me-nots
and I see
the mastery of natural selection

by being the one selected out
and it happens and
life goes on
and the fields bloom with beauty
year after year
with or without me

but man is jealous
of nature and seeks to tame
the untamable
the wildness the random
seeks to explain why
and hold to his breast

a velvet touch a silk rose
his wisdom
as better