“flowers”

A patchwork spill of painter’s brush,  
Upon the steep and gentle hill—  
A riot wrought from seed and hush,  
Where breeze and sunlight linger still.

Petunia faces, soft and shy,  
Daisy eyes gleaming in the noon,  
Poppies like lanterns, swinging high,  
Wild roses dancing to a tune.

Beneath magnolia’s scented shade  
The bees compose their golden song,  
While lilies, pale and unafraid,  
Stand eloquent and tall among

The hollyhocks in scarlet dress,  
The violets clutching close the sod—  
Each petal, pressed with tenderness,  
A fleeting verse composed by God.

In gardens small or meadows wide,  
On window ledge or mountain steep,  
The flowers keep the world alive—  
A beauty fragile, bright, and deep.

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