"The flowers"

The Flowers

In gardens where the morning sighs,

The flowers wake with sleepy eyes,

Their petals soft, their colors bold,

A tale of life, of grace untold.

Each one a star in earth’s embrace,

A fleeting dance, a fragile trace,

They sway in rhythm with the breeze,

A silent song, a whispered tease.

The tulip blushes, red and gold,

Its secrets soft, its stories old;

It tells of love that’s born anew,

A flame that warms the heart’s first view.

The daisy laughs with simple grace,

A crown of white upon its face,

Its golden center, bright and true,

A symbol of the skies so blue.

The rose, a queen in velvet red,

With thorns and blooms, both joy and dread,

It speaks of passion, wild and free,

Of secrets shared between the trees.

The lavender, a voice so calm,

A tranquil balm, a healing balm,

Its scent, a whisper through the night,

That turns the dark to soft moonlight.

And lilies, pure as heaven’s glow,

Their petals bright like winter’s snow,

They stand with grace, their heads held high,

A tribute to the open sky.

Each flower blooms, then fades away,

A perfect moment, lost in day,

Yet in their hearts, they live again,

A fleeting life, but not in vain.

For flowers know, as we must learn,

That time is brief, yet still we yearn,

To bloom and wither, die and rise,

A circle drawn beneath the skies.

The sunflower reaches toward the sun,

A life devoted, never done,

Its face alight with golden cheer,

A prayer for warmth, a hope sincere.

The violets hide in shadows deep,

Their secrets whisper, soft they keep,

A quiet peace, a gentle voice,

A life content in silent choice.

The orchids stand, so strange, so rare,

With elegance beyond compare,

Their beauty like a dream untold,

A mystery in petals gold.

The marigolds, a burst of flame,

With fiery hues, they call your name,

A celebration, pure and bright,

A dance of joy, a spark of light.

In every bloom, a world is spun,

A story written by the sun,

A tale of loss, of love, of grace,

Of timeless beauty, in this place.

And as they fade, they leave behind,

A fragrance soft, a quiet kind,

A memory of what was here,

A song that lingers, sweet and clear.

The flowers teach what hearts must know,

That life is brief, yet still we grow,

That beauty lies in fleeting things,

And wisdom in the songs it sings.

So let us learn from blooms that fall,

To rise again, to stand up tall,

For every flower, though it fades,

Lives on in dreams, in twilight’s shades.

And when the night is soft and deep,

The flowers close their eyes to sleep,

Yet still they linger, in the air,

Their spirit free, beyond compare.

For every bloom that comes and goes,

A deeper truth the earth bestows:

That life is both a gift and song,

A fleeting dance that moves along.

The flowers, with their quiet grace,

Remind us all to find our place,

To bloom, to love, and then to fade,

And trust the beauty that we’ve made.

And when the seasons turn their wheel,

The flowers rise, the earth they heal,

With every bloom, a hope reborn,

A promise kept, a love adorned.

So let us honor each small flower,

That dances in the quiet hour,

For in their petals, pure and bright,

We find our way, our hearts alight.

Thus, in the garden’s gentle sway,

The flowers teach us, day by day,

That even when we must depart,

We leave behind a work of art.