"Whisper of a Wildflower"

In a meadow kissed by morning light,

A blossom stands in silent might,

Its petals brushed with amethyst hue,

Cradling gold in drops of dew.

The mountains bw in gentle grace,

As breeze sweeps past its tender face,

And trees behind in emerald rows

Stand still to watch how beauty grows.

It lifts its head toward skies so wide,

A whisper born of nature’s pride,

Though small, it holds the world’s pure gleam—

A fleeting breath, a painter’s dream.

No need for fame, no need for name,

It blooms and withers just the same,

Yet in that fleeting, fragrant hour,

It holds the soul of every flower.

O child of sun, so bright, so brief,

You bloom beyond the grasp of grief,

A lesson sown in silence deep—

To live, to shine, and then to sleep.