flowers' fragile petals
wild in the mind's heart
carry the scent of rose where there is none
each thorn a jewel in love's crown
each petal birthed in pain
pollen filling nostrils in the rain
what will we smell when there are no more
fake lemon or pine?
what would we humans do
if led by our noses and closes our eyes
to choose our next direction?
they will not play monopoly again
with our rocks and our trees
in our garden, says chicken little,
there are no weeds.
- Vera Jackson