Roses are red,
the violets are shrewd.
These words may rhyme—
but is there truth?
Maybe reality is like nature.
It grows, blooms, declines, and dies.
If we take care of it,
might it survive?
Could reality exist,
could wildflower gardens grow?
We fertilize the soils,
in the hopes that
colours of nuance would arise.
And yet—
sometimes we try so hard,
clinging to hold our garden together
while it falls apart.
Only then we realize:
while we were tending the ground,
a storm was brewing,
that tore it all down.
And the only hope
that in our apathy we see
is that even in deserts,
there is some greenery.