The life of mortals is like grass,
they flourish like a flower of the field;
the wind blows over it and it is gone,
and its place remembers it no more. ~Psalm 103:15-16
Flowers bloom with the rising
of the daffodil sun bursting
through the veil of morning
Throughout the day they raise
their sepals and petals in prayer
that canopy a lapis lazuli sky
Then kneel into dirt, well-rooted,
bow their once radiant heads
in somber purple of twilight
before resting in the sunset
of darkness, that black cosmos
of night, waiting, waiting
for resurrection, for the hope
of new day, with the promise
of fresh winds of change
