Devolution

 Roses, grown in a field of mystery
Petals ravishing to see
Creating such curiosity
Treated with deliciously
As to not tarnish its exquisite physique
Oh, to touch such beauty
But such radiance requires a skilled hand
Someone who kindles her chartreuse steam
Caresses her delicate petals
As each season ends
Humanity claws away her delicacy
Futile heathens screaming “Feminism”
Petals of grace falling
Stem of curiosity wilting
Somewhere in the midst of sexuality
We lost our sense of desire
Deeming a profane,
Wilted, petal-less rose “exquisite”
Leaving rarity undiscovered
Using scatological terms
Only a trivial fool would slew
For a flower pre-plucked
Requires an unskilled hand