Disconnected

Oh, great ball of fire!

A happy feeling came this way

Thou art sick!

The Sick Rose

O Rose, thou art sick!

The Invisible worm,

That flies in the night,

In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed

Of Crimson joy;

And his dark secret love

Does thy life destroy.

Robert Blake

A rose!

A sepal, petal and a thorn,

Upon a common summer's morn,

A flash of dew, a bee or two,

A breeze

A caper in the trees,

And I'm a rose!

Emily Dickinson