Flowers

My vision was of flowers,
Opening with the day.
And in a few bright mornings,
There stood a large array.

Of red flowers dangling,
Clinging to their stems.
That bordered on the garden path,
Like clusters of rare gems.

They stirred among the breezes,
In the freshness of the dew.
And sent a perfume lifting,
From places where they grew.

With eyes set in their beauty,
I feasted to my needs.
Ever grateful to have flowers,
Instead of always weeds.

And there in meditation,
Came insight to the worth.
Of the precious souls of people,
That flowered on God's earth.

E.P. 1908 - 1989