Resting in 'selfness', flowers colour forth, with
Brilliant hues. They do nothing but be
What they are, and can therefore wholly give
Of themelves with intensity, while we
Have to be so much to many. Our faces
Have manifold sides, but trying the still
Serene 'being' with which nature erases
All else, we too can find quiet and thrill
At the peace felt inside. Like the flower
We have a beauty, though hidden, that shines
From our core with awareness. Power,
Resulting from calm, means we can refine
Every moment, then colour with love our
Own self. Stillness does for us as with flowers.
The flower knows it worth and beauty eh... beautiful poem!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautiful poem, as always, displaying your consummate skill at blending the written word with wonderful imagery. Thank you, Fay.