T Woodys Flower
the azure flower, a lone sentinel,
stands tall amidst the scorched earth.
the tornado's wild caress,
a whirling dervish of destruction,
unleashes its fury upon the field,
devouring the vibrant blooms
with reckless abandon.
as the last petals are swept away,
the azure flower remains,
a frosty jewel,
polished by the tempest's violent hand.
it now dances, isolated,
amidst the barren vastness,
a wistful beauty sullied by the ravages of chaos.
in this tragic solace,
the azure flower finds a strange,
elegiac beauty,
a trophy to the brutal capriciousness
of the universe's whims.
the canvas drained of hue,
except a drop of beau hue blue,
a little color in a bleak landscape.
question is will the bee tricks ever get to thrive,
or will this field be bereft of her flora forever?
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