The Flower
by
Ron Crepeau
Copyright 2003, R. Crepeau
Alone I wander this field
Pondering on all that I see.
Much my mind muses
About the sun, flowers and me.
The sun sends to the field
It’s bounty so bright.
And the flowers froth forth
Longingly loving his light.
The flowers dance and wave
When in the breeze they blow
As if joyously celebrating
Their glory and his glow.
No glow have I.
No beckoning powers.
So invisible am I
To the lovely flowers.
For the flower’s blindness
I cry out no lament.
For I behold all their beauty
And with that I am content.
Yes, here beauty abounds.
Loveliness in so many ways.
Beauty that I would have
Past time’s decimating days.
So in the field I wander
In my desire to discern
A flower of deep beauty
My attention to earn.
Caution I have acquired
For beauty can deceive
When not closely observed
For evidence to believe.
Some buds barely open
Promise of glory to be.
But these are too young
To be of interest to me.
Some show of what was
As they wilt with age.
Them too I must shun
My desire to assuage.
Many flowers abound
In their delicate Spring
But fail of the fragrance
Their Summer will bring.
Those that I seek
Must be in their prime.
Neither before nor after
Their loveliest time.
My quest is not in vain
For not any flower will do.
Only one with rich color
And ripe fragrance too.
From my search she appears
And my desire turns compelling
To paint more than to see:
Beauty deep beyond telling.