A Pink Flower

The blossom is a fussin' About the shining sun - Colour and oxygen - The bud bringeth the petal, Where there is no cussin'. The pride of nature's platter, The joy of the buzzing bee, The thing by which we all fathom, Just exactly what it is that we can be. The scent of the perfume, In the gels of the body shop, The standard for their products, At which we've all had a pop. The claim of the respiratory doctor, For breathing and atmosphere, Is that air comes from plants, And that plants with us do cohere. But we need to be remember, Before we become egotistical, That plants evolved before humans, That we come last, not hierarchical. There is no above or below, The message of the flower, The communication so opine, That expression of power.