Red Roses

Blushing rose petals

Leaves as green as envy

Thorns as sharp as spears

The flowers here are lovely

A strong aroma like perfume

The busy buzzing of the bees

A view that’s like a painting

That moves amongst the breeze

The galloping of hooves

The strong odor of gasoline

The sky became like pitch

In which nothing could be seen

The quickened scurry of field mice

And shaky slither of a snake

Those that can, they try to flee

Hot death that moves so angrily

Instead of Blush, the roses glow

Amongst the Charcoal fields

An amber gleam in ashy snow

As the dying fire yields

No more busy buzzing of the Bees

No bright painting amongst the breeze

Just blackened ash and dusty white

A once sacred place is burned away

Now less like day and more like night

But nothing good was meant to stay