White roses bed the windy plains
Glistening cool dew
as the sky runs in grey and stone
The petals run through my soul

But then the day sets.
a trip, a trick, and a treat.
Dirt on my hands as the sky roots me
and in languor I wait

As it skims my body
my skin, it hurts, it complains
It could have been erased, but now
Red beds the cruel plains.