We Flowers Of The Sun Poem by Smoky Hoss

The tiny bird
comes to peck patiently
at one sunflower seed.
Pausing briefly to ponder the sky,
the signs, the silhouette
of a large predator above,
seeking us,
the small shadows here below.
I too look up, scan the sky, and consider
meteors, rockets, acid rain.
Finding none in view,
I go back to sipping my coffee.
The fiery heat of the brew
allows for only one small swallow at a time.
The sunflower, I notice, also peers upward,
but it sees only one thing,
the ball of fire trekking east to west,
that it follows faithfully, no fear, no concern.
The tiny bird, finding it's fill,
spreads feathered wings of wonder
that glow gold in the perfect light
of this day.
It flies away to the harmony of trees
standing firm with open arms.
I swallow the final drop
of my own warm pleasure,
content.
For now fulfilled and at peace;
the grace of this day shines upon us, we
who are flowers of the sun.