Flowers are the music of the ground, from earth’s lips spoken without sound. ~ Edwin Cerran Lupines are in the meadow, speaking poetry of nature; the breeze directing purple allegretto for every forest neighbor. My love shall we go walking in golden warmth of summer, with the flowers softly talking in notes of every color? Shall we then lay down and slumber in the sweet grass and the flower, where cares do not encumber and dreams become our bower? There we will surrender to the breeze and drift on lupine's purple frieze.
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