I told them, “You all are flowers, each a kind of flower.”
And they ask, “What kind of flower we are?
“Make us into cosmos, carnations
Orchids, or geraniums
Wait—we can become
Chrysanthemums!”
I told them, “You all will come from your own special seed,
No two flowers alike, each a wonder, you’ll see.”
And they ask, “Who will be the azalea
Who the dahlia, the bougainvillea
Oh no! Who will be a
Helluva rafflesia?”
I told them, “You will learn only as you unfold
What you will become will be left untold.”
From their seeds they struggled out
And nervously twisted about
As they tried to figure out
Who they’re about.
The first came spurting out quick
And appeared gilded and slick
“I must be a marigold!” it proudly proclaimed.
The second’s leaves slothfully slithered
“I must be welwitschia,” it whimpered,
And hung its stem in shame.
And one by one, as the flowers clung
To an ideal of whom
They know they’ll become
“I saw it coming!” said some
Gleefully. “I did not,” said some glum.
But then the supposed marigold
Shot forth titanic tentacles,
And then the wretched welwitchia
Poured forth a forsythia’s plentiful.
Each flower will confess
It’s both gorgeous and grotesque.
And one by one, each one is stunned
To know what they’ll become just cannot be done!
Such disorienting directions! They can only assume
It’s a mystery how their lives will continue to bloom.
Read my poem “Living in the Now at a Deeper Level“
