Work Text:
Everyday, I plant a new rose in my field.
All of them beautiful shades of red,
all flourishing in the crowded garden bed.
Giving the grass a rosey red shield.
People always ask if the roses are ideal.
Asking if it came from something I read.
Asking if it came from within my own head.
The number of flowers feeling unreal.
So now I sit, staring at my rose garden.
The count increased by another few.
The sun setting, telling me the day is done.
With the oldest roses, feeding the new.