• The red rose stands alone in the cold.
    The green leaves curve in the mist.
    The soldiers shake and cough as the sun becomes gold.
    Bombs boom and thud as water sprays in a twist.

    The reflection of the smooth, flat gun.
    The spray of color as the bitter men run.
    You can faintly hear a survivor's groan.
    And yet, the red rose still stands alone.