“We sing and dance, make faces and give flower bouquets, trying to be loved.
You ever notice that trees do everything to get attention we do, except walk?”
Song of the Flower
I am a kind word uttered and repeated
By the voice of Nature;
I am a star fallen from the
Blue tent upon the green carpet.
I am the daughter of the elements
With whom Winter conceived;
To whom Spring gave birth; I was
Reared in the lap of Summer and I
Slept in the bed of Autumn.
At dawn I unite with the breeze
To announce the coming of light;
At eventide I join the birds
In bidding the light farewell.
The plains are decorated with
My beautiful colors, and the air
Is scented with my fragrance.
As I embrace Slumber the eyes of
Night watch over me, and as I
Awaken I stare at the sun, which is
The only eye of the day.
I drink dew for wine, and hearken to
The voices of the birds, and dance
To the rhythmic swaying of the grass.
I am the lover’s gift; I am the wedding wreath;
I am the memory of a moment of happiness;
I am the last gift of the living to the dead;
I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.
But I look up high to see only the light,
And never look down to see my shadow.
This is wisdom which man must learn.
“In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish’d dove;
In the Spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.”
Alfred Lord Tennyson
“What in your life is calling you, When all the noise is silenced,
The meetings adjourned… The lists laid aside, And the Wild Iris blooms
By itself In the dark forest… What still pulls on your soul?” — Rumi
And she was fair as is the rose in May. — Geoffrey Chaucer
How should Spring bring forth a garden on hard stone?
Become earth, that you may grow flowers of many colors.
For you have been heart-breaking rock.
Once, for the sake of experiment, be earth!
Verse For a Certain Dog (excerpt) by Dorothy Parker Such glorious faith as fills your limpid eyes, Dear little friend of mine, I never knew. All-innocent are you, and yet all-wise. (For Heaven's sake, stop worrying that shoe!) You look about, and all you see is fair; This mighty globe was made for you alone. Of all the thunderous ages, you're the heir. (Get off the pillow with that dirty bone!) A skeptic world you face with steady gaze; High in young pride you hold your noble head, Gayly you meet the rush of roaring days. (Must you eat puppy biscuit on the bed?) Lance-like your courage, gleaming swift and strong, Yours the white rapture of a winged soul, Yours is a spirit like a Mayday song.