In Bloom

She droops her head in drowsy snooze awaiting for the rise of dawn. She covets eastern sky pale hues, as she stretches and stifles a yawn. She cares that soon ol’ Sol will rise, her head ascending with his light. She’ll follow him across the skies until it’s time to fade at night. Every blooming flower knows that jolly orb that passes by. He smiles and shines for only them and sings to them from lofty high. In field, in garden, or in pot, they wave in silent voices bold. "Hello!”, “Goodnight!”, and “Worry not. We’ll soon again your face behold.”