
The tiger lily in the sun unfurls
Its red tipped orange a kindred of the sun
Inviting bees to feast upon its curls
The golden pollen seems from heaven spun

The morning glory rather seems demure
Its pale and fragile blooms avoid the glare
The petals soft and pallid, colors pure
Come afternoon, its blossoms hidden there

And then there is the blossom of the rose
Somehow both bold and soft in majesty
A queenly flow’r, it sits in calm repose
And when it fades, it seems a travesty



I wonder at these buds in full array
The genius of Creation on display