An Orchid Plucked By The Hand Of God Poem by Mark Heathcote

Palm-over-palm, above the treetop pines
let us climb these mysterious vines
climb-from-their roots and touch the sky,
hang there like a fruit waving goodbye.

Join a designated star, an atom, a spore
that will happily fly, not fall to the floor.
That's not yet entirely-self-constituted
that will divinely dine air-rooted.

Let us like sunflowers be torn from the sod,
rise-up, again fan-flamed newly forged.
That nothing can we fake on the spot
an orchid plucked by the hand of God.