There is a wild flower growing high above the gravel
In my back garden.
I have not touched or smelled it, yet
For it seems not wanted to be disturbed.
But instead, to be simply admired.
It seems its life will be short lived
Been homed by a dusty brown pebbled stage
Where it acts not isolated and in the shade,
Thirsty and cold…
But sways, noticeably with its brightly red petals.
It sadly looks separated from the others that have been planted in a special area,
But I shake my head with that thought.
It looks free, and surviving, happily breathing our air.