The Flower
In gardens framed of blooming light, Where petals open, trace the sight, A chorus rises, true and sweet, Each flower a heartbeat, a life complete.
From golden crowns and hues of red, To violets dropping where I tread, The palette spreads and bends my mind, In every bloom, a soul defined.
Among their ranks, I find my peace, As scents entwine, and tensions cease, With every ray that softly kissed, In nature’s hands, there’s nothing missed.
- Dorothy Wordsworth