Flowers glow in morning’s twilight
Suspended in the whispered air
In glass stained red and gold and white
Blooming into life forever fair.
Beads click the tick of passing time
In a sacred, blessed hour
Untolled by bells, unkept by chimes,
When the seed bursts and flowers.
The gardener observes and then
Leaves to tend what he attends;
Perhaps to drink from some private spring.
The flowers leave to other gardens,
Birds ascend while they descend,
Awoken and awakening.