to a garden girl
the flowers made of dust to color
and fragrance spread of his breath
down upon the earth
rise to meet the highest peaks
of rock of the iron
to which they and we are bound
made of our own flesh
we reach for the sky of blue
and black of cold of space
far higher than the highest level
beyond our reach
not content to stay below
our spirits cry
some for freedom's burst beyond to the peace
we know exists, but out our reach
somehow we know
it's in our past, vague like a memory of a long gone dream
some for the pillage and the plunder to get it while it can be got
to reach for those stars and conquer
make themselves a throne of man
the flowers with their quiet speech will gasp a solemn breath
they'll laugh and say,
that it is only for their doom
nature shows the splendor and the truth
glory cannot be gotten by these means
all will turn to rust
who by means of self and greed
and denial of what is plainly shown by nature's own display
will torpid turn to ruin
as by example see the volcano roar
in its skirts destruction by fiery red and molten melt
what is left in that wake is cold, solidified blackened mineral
'til centuries pass
the machine of wind and weather by the passing of the time
crevices fill with the seeds of life and plants begin to grow
the sun shines upon that bleak freeze of lava rock
to yield its fruit
the fruit is mild, it does not resist
it simply, lovely is just like,
made and bred to be like him,
the flowers made of dust to color
and fragrance spread of his breath
down upon the earth
rise to meet the highest peaks
rise above the rock and iron
now partake, though only in part,
looking up to those peaks and fiery sun
do not resist,
yielding up to see his face
to be like him who made them thus
like the glory of the flowers and the majesty of the peaks
see them sprinkled by sparks of white above
in the midnight blue
those shining stars,
portals of the heaven's star-gates we pass into-
befriend,
like the flowers and the lowly weeds that bloom