The Flower's Song

The humble flower swaying free,

Bent down in prayer as winds blew by.

No glimpse of greed nor poverty,

Stretched up again below the sky.

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Listen closely to the flower's song,

As pedals play their part.

To turn Man's eye a moment long,

To God's great work of art.

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"See order in my rhythm,

See plan in my design.

See prayer in my precision.

I'm sent here as a sign.

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Ponder now, before I'm gone,

For winter here draws nigh.

Without knowledge of why we're here,

Is not wisdom but a lie?

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And as I sing my final song.

Take this as what we learn.

To God it is we all belong,

And to Him is our return."

By J. Schuck