Freedom was a hot house flower
desperate to wrap and twine,
to have the sun caress her petals
into sweet blushes like red wine.
“Send me springtime's woven blanket
of green lawns and amber stones,
I should be wearing sky's azure
wrapping
feel dawn's kiss upon this rose.
My coffee-colored roots
mourn the dance within the earth,
petals flirting with a meadowlark
bullfrogs singing out their mirth”
Standing silently beside her
long-stem roses nodded in a row
they shared the wish of Freedom,
their natural right to grow.
Greed, he was in business,
he bought the roses for silver pence,
he sliced them down together,
stripped each one of her defense.
Freedom tossed and bunched with others
in a monochromatic jam,
stuck in poisoned water casings,
chilled in boxes,
she was damned
Hot house delicate & exotic,
once proudly standing, now torn down,
Freedom cried to Zephyr's melody
under rain's percussive window sound.
“Oh nature's daughters I warn you,
work hard to wrap and twine,
or you too will be transplanted
to the 1-800 assembly line.
For greed will take your measure,
Silver coin pass hand to hand,
clippers they will cut you,
to be bunched in Greed's firm hands.”
