A wild rose
Blooms
At roadside -
Content there
In the company
Of a peculiar
Blue sky
And deep
Green forest
At its back
And traffic
Machinery
Passing by
It on a
Regular basis.
I could stop
And make a
Cutting of it
And take it
Home
Putting it
In a glass
Vase and
Watch it die -
But I touch
it not
Knowing I
Can look forward
To seeing it
When I travel
This way
Again.