Posted by: Ron DuBour | April 27, 2017

Roses are white;~by Joseph Harshberger



Roses are white;

Roses are white; violets are blue, it’s all the blood that’s been spilled that changes there hue.

We poison her water and poison her air, then we ask why; when she has no love to share.

We murder her children for food or for sport, then in times of great need she lends no support.

Like a mother she’s just protecting her young, from all the destruction; we do and have done.

We hack down her trees to make fire and our homes, we rip off there skin; to make paper for books and poems.

The storms she sends will never be enough, to remove the pestilence and our need for stuff.

One day she will show us just what we’ve done, when we suffocate and starve her battle will be won.

Hour Drive Poetry©


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