Flower of The Field

Where are all the flowers?
In our hour of need.
Are they where ?
Staking a place
In the summer heat?
Flopping and reaching
Towards the sky.
Pink and yellow roses,
Grasping at the light.
Waiting for perdition,
Reaching out to fight.
Calm and sullen repose,
Masked by banal sight.
Struggling for revival,.
Which will mean their end.
Where are their plant souls?
There is no answer,
Where or there,
Flowers
They live!
And still they die.
Even in our time of need.