a red rose in a field
red as a freshly painted barn
I see it, alone in that cornfield
like a lighthouse, standing, by the crashing sea.
the bees buzz around its crown
and the butterflies dance by the stalk
Oh what a sublime scene!
as simple as settling dust.

It grows here on its own
stretching its own root, finding its own waters
not like the vines that twist around the trees
but instead, it is almost its own sun
and almost its own earth
and as unbound as the river
flowing, past its own banks.

what a beautiful flower
what a beautiful dusk
a red rose
and a field of corn.