In morning’s hush where dew drops gleam,

The flowers wake from twilight’s dream.

With petals soft as silken thread,

They lift their crowns from earthen bed.

A rose in crimson robes does sigh,

Its fragrance drifting like a cry.

The daisy dances, pure and bright,

A sun-kissed star in meadow light.

The violet hides in shaded glade,

A secret soul in purple laid.

While tulips blush in rows of pride,

Like painted flames they stand and bide.

They do not speak, yet all can hear

The messages they send so clear—

Of love, of peace, of fleeting time,

In nature’s gentle, blooming rhyme.

So let us pause where flowers grow,

And learn what silent hearts can show—

That beauty lives in quiet grace,

And joy can bloom in any place.