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.”
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