Where the Wildflowers Dream

In the cradle of mountains, high and wide,
Where clouds like whispers gently glide,
A valley blooms with colors free—
A living song, a floral sea.

Golden daisies laugh in sun,
Like tiny stars when day’s begun.
They sway like joy with open eyes,
Reflecting light from sapphire skies.

The tulips wear a royal glow,
In shades that make the heartbeats slow—
Crimson, amber, blush and flame,
Each one a torch that calls your name.

Lavender hums a scented tune,
Its purple breath so soft, so soon—
It dances light on winds that pass
Through fields like sheets of colored glass.

The poppies rest like drops of fire,
Their petals bold, their stems aspire.
They burn with grace, not harsh or loud,
But calm, like flames that kiss a cloud.

Sweet marigolds with golden hair
Whisper warmth into the air.
Their petals like the mountain sun,
Glow brighter when the day is done.

A violet, shy near fern and tree,
Hides in shade where few can see.
But beauty blooms not for applause—
It shines for peace, for love, for cause.

Forget-me-nots in gentle blue
Seem made of dreams and morning dew.
They speak of things not said aloud,
Of silent hearts and heads unbowed.

A butterfly—like art in flight—
Drinks from petals kissed by light.
Bees hum near the daffodil,
While time itself stands soft and still.

And far above, the mountains rise
Like keepers of the earth and skies.
Snow-capped heads in silence stay,
Watching flowers bloom and sway.

What harmony the valley keeps—
Where silence sings and color sleeps,
A view no artist’s brush could steal,
Where heaven comes to kiss the real.

So if you’re lost, and seek to find
The balm to heal a weary mind,
Climb to where the wildflowers grow—
And let their mountain magic flow.