The red flower

The track is a walk
For a jog or a walk
The grass not wild
Not allowed to run free

The flower was a bud
Seen as grass
Missed by the big snip
Then red bright
In the middle of the track

More like a weed
Than a flower
Thought the grass
Running too wild
Sitting shamelessly
Beautiful .

The trudging feet
Will crush it now
But the feet stopped
The red flower
In the middle of the track
Beautiful
Made the routine jog
The disciplined green of the grass
With one red flower
Looked like it held
The whole garden in there
Hidden in just one red bloom.