The Damnation of the Sunflower

On the brightest day of a sunny June,

Rose a sun behind a lonely dune.

It looked like nothing more than ruin,

Vanishing a little too soon.

It was in a red desert of rose,

In all that uniform prose,

That the sunflower arose,

Leaning to the sun who already froze.

Fire used to protect her from cold,

Slaying the thorns that did withhold,

Her dreams of reaching that gold,

Which was to never fold.

Indeed, the sunflower survived that frozen weather,

The only one of its kind, she was the treasure,

Whom, one day, the wind caressed as leather,

Bringing to this field her successor.

She died like most of her species,

Rejected by the red nation's policies,

Poisoned by monstrous rabies,

Because of her difference, she was a disease.