NOTE: Go to the end of the thread for the most recent version of this poem.
The Day all the Roses Died
One day all the roses died.
Not all at once, just a few at a time.
Some knew in hours, some in days,
Some read it on Google just this last may.
The scientists went into action.
Hiding the last in greenhouses and labs.
And bringing out products that on close inspection.
Were nothing like the roses we used to have.
In stores and shops, across the land.
The show must go on, for the entrepreneurial hand.
Roses of plastic, plaster and tack.
So the good old consumer knows nothing’s out of whack.
Environmentalists go into a howling froth.
Hands to their guns and eyes all across.
Corporations hide, point fingers and blame.
Play the “everyone but me” accusation game.
As for the rest, for all the plain folk.
Unless we’re green thumbed, we don’t give a poke.
We’re to busy to care, we have our own lives.
As we scurry around our city hives.
And what do I, the writer of this, think?
As I kneel down, lost on the brink.
I just take a moment, to write this odd rhyme.
And say, I remember roses, I remember that time.
