Of Flower-grace

 Every so many years this field is full of daisies. I’m glad this farmer doesn’t spray them!

Can we, with naught but ink descry

A field of flowers laughing by?

O, pretty planet, blessed by bloom

A wanderer’s grand living-room

Can we, with humble poetry

Preserve what Time will strip from thee?

Did God forget to gate His Berth?

And then, did heaven fall to earth?

How else can Eden’s echo spill

Like angels to wood-lot and rill

Where we, with speechless friendship flirt

With miracles drawn from Time’s dirt

…and where the grass is dappled, we

Of clamoring society

Should come more often to this place

Of sweet and simple flower-grace

Where bud is not compelled to pine

For something more than God’s design

The hills are white with summer-snow

And we delight at its brief show

Before the quickening of air

Bestows to rose what all will bear

A little bloom beneath the sun

Before our little life is done

© Janet Martin