Nestled in the grounds of the garden,

Hidden in the towering grass and flowers,

A rosy path flattens the dirt,

And a mysterious figure walks its length.

Clad in an oversized, poppy-colored cloak,

A hood shadowing her face,

She strolls through soundlessly,

Causing peaceful turmoil.

With each calm stride,

The once lively, red flowers begin to wilt,

Her appearance alone reaps their lives,

Leaves their bodies to decompose in the mud.

The plants gradually fall to the ground,

Shriveling up in dreadful malnourishment,

Unable to keep their color,

Unable to escape their fate.

In Mother Nature’s kind eyes, she’s a devil,

An evil being, a red flower’s grim reaper,

Though she knows deep down in her,

The “reaper’s” schemes are lessening her chore list.

I can’t tell you what this cloaked woman is thinking of,

Because even I have no idea,

But she seems assured, coolheaded and collected,

Like she’s okay with the devastation she’s inflicted.

So, she continues to walk the path,

Her face inexpressive under her hood,

Clearing the garden into a bleak space,

Killing the innocent flowers carelessly.