The Last Sunflower
THE LAST SUNFLOWER
Blood red is the sunflower
as it stands in the field,
watching a gray sky,
pressing its will.
Yellow petals descending
when the smokey winds blow,
made by the soldiers,
that died in its row.
Seeds drop to the ground
as it nods its big head,
will the seedlings be flowers,
or crushed, where they fled.
The joy that it stood for
seems to be gone,
where is the freedom,
that once was their bond.
Picked by a small child
as he runs with his mom,
away from his home, the
sunflower, a bomb.
-Edlynn Nau
February 28, 2022
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