In the rising light of dawn, new flowers
bloom, Come the twilight they close their petals
with a sigh, Though their season’s measured hours
may seem so short, whether rose or nettle
when summer sun cedes to the winter’s quest
the roots turn peacefully to quiet rest.
Our bright season of exuberant youth
is short when measured by eternity,
yet in the majesty of time and truth
abides the soul that sets the body free.
A time of bloom, a time of promised ease,
Such is the plan that each might find their peace.
~ Earth holds her treasures with a loving hand
~ that opens but to Heaven’s own command.