The humble flower swaying free,
Bent down in prayer as winds blow by.
No glimpse of greed or poverty,
Once again she stretches up beneath the sky.
Listen closely to the flower’s song,
As pedals play their part.
To turn Man’s eye for a moment long,
To God’s great work of art.
“See order in my rhythm,
See plan in my design.
See prayer in my precision.
’I’ve been sent here as a sign.
Ponder now, before I’m gone,
For winter here draws nigh.
Without knowledge of why we’re here,
Is not wisdom naught but a lie?
And as I sing my final song,
This is what we all will learn.
To God it is we all belong,
And to Him is our return.”