A dark seed,
Floating, it seems
On a hot desert wind
Silent.
Falling to the ground
There to bloom
In searing yellow
Shot through with carmine
And veins of a darker hue.
Beauty in the midst
Of austerity.
The observer is taken
By the spectacle
And smiles.
'Zero, this is Tango Three Zero,
Target destroyed. Over.'
'Roger, Tango Three Zero,
Return to base. Out.'
' Roger, ETA one hour. Out.'
Smoke follows the blooms.
Letters to families
Will follow the smoke.

Martin O'Neill

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/desert-blooms/