Does the bulb so gently planted
feel alone beneath the earth;
or the flower sweetly peeking
at the sunlight at its birth?
How about the stately oak tree
standing at attention, guarding the front yard,
been on duty seems forever,
its bark bears the battle scars.
Is there a sense of community
hidden within the plant world,
or is it every plant for it self?
Are they content where they are planted
or are they always circumspect?
Why can’t humans emulate the plant world
content to be alone or in a group
satisfied to look up and praise the Father,
on display in a garden or on a stoop.
Is that because there’s no competition,
they don’t have feelings, egos, goals?
Perhaps it’s contentment in their calling,
they don’t wander much you know.
Man’s fall messed up their world also,
all the weeds and bugs and Blight,
yet they never seem t’be bothered,
standing tall, their colors bright.
Perhaps we should be more like ’em,
satisfied to do our part;
and let the Master Gardener plant us,
so we can bloom and praise the Lord!