daisies

You trace the ridges of the flower.

The sole daisy in this field.

A dot of yellow against a vibrant green.

Your toes burrow in the dirt.

The soil covering your feet.

Feeling cool against the warm sun.

Your hand moves, brushing through the grass.

Pulling some out in the process.

Your board fingers rip out the stalks,

destroying life you can’t hear the scream of,

lazily tearing roots out of the growing ground,

plucking the flower for your own amusement.

Snuffing out the radiant daisy.