I see a small, lone flower there,
Growing beneath the green-leafed tree,
Sheltered from wind’s relentless air
And thriving in the sun’s warm plea.
Its yellow petals streaked with red,
Green leaves atop a sturdy stem.
The murmuring breeze speaks overhead
While in the air dances a wren.
It stands alone, not with its kind;
Its solitude becomes its grace.
A rare discovery I find —
Its story told by empty space.
The clustered flowers cling in groups.
So few live trees still linger there;
Among them stand the lifeless stumps.
Hardly a soul will wander here
Along a path no tracks reveal.
A vision only I hold dear —
One others may not chance to feel.
This scene, as if from painter’s hand,
Creates a beauty in my mind.
I lean to rest upon the land,
An ideal peace I’m glad to find.
I sit here with my sweet daydream —
Just flower, bird, the tree, and me,
All warmed beneath the sun’s soft beam.
A moment held may set us free.