Be it a tree laden with colour,
Or a pretty patch in the meadows,
They never fail to light our eyes
Or a heart filled with shadows.
We see that they are included in every heartfelt memory,
In vases, aisles and blushing bouquets,
Or on mounds of mud, where they are lain gently.
The gardener rejoices on the sight of a bud
Though a farmer will wait for the fruit to mark his goal.
But you see, a tiny flower has more worth in an arid land-
For though the fruit feeds the man, it’s the flower that feeds the soul.
