Today I saw a brilliant red flower
Crushed under the wheels of a car.
It lay afterward, sprawled on the road,
Its floral entrails hideously exposed.
It lay, crushed, rended, torn, dead
And the guilty whizzed ahead without a care.
No pall of gloom was cast around,
No screams of pain were heard.
No audible whimpers sounded then.
I bent down and picked it up.
I cradled it in my fingers.
I saw a tear, a dewy tear shed for it,
Which lay like a drop of pearl on a
Crimson petal, throned aloft,
Crying in anguish for the death of art,
For the savage destruction of beauty.
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