Flowers break open like little hands
with gifts of blue and gold,
holding them up for the sun to glance,
not thinking the act too bold...
Once a seed, it began in the dirt
and the dark -- and fought to rise,
breaking through when to move was deterred,
a glimpse of sun for its prize.
Soaking in rays, and climbing higher,
it followed its will to grow;
and raised its head it verdant desire,
nor wanting to look below.
Within it knew it could still be more --
a child of the Shining Sun --
and looked down deep, to its meager core,
for a way to get it done.
It found that nature had hid inside
the means to it all along:
asking only the seed to provide
the will to want to belong
To a world of beauty, fill with light,
where the act of seeing is joy;
and all eyes are endowed with sight --
if the owner makes that choice.
Any wonder, then, that such a world
honors beauty by the same?
The highest worship, the choicest pearl:
That a work of God's should earn the name.
