Flower Talk
I love it when the flowers
Talk to one another.
They don’t use formal greetings;
Call each other sister or brother.
They talk about the weather
And their need of rainwater,
But they never complain
Should others’ stems be stouter.
They whisper sweet nothings
And perfume the air.
None of them grumble,
Or their perfumes compare.
They look for the butterflies
To take their pollen far away,
So more flowers will grow
In a similar, healthy way.
They praise each other
For their beauty and grace,
Even when some hide
And others can’t see their face.
They are kind to one another;
They live in the same garden.
Their words are always sweet;
No unkindness to pardon.
Flowers sometimes sing,
But we can’t hear their song.
And even if we could,
To the flowers we’d belong.
They cry when some die,
But their smiles soon return,
When new buds blossom
And Flower Talk they learn.
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