As the sun turns the bower to face her, she sets
every shower to right as she goes
with the light of the heavens to watch o’er, she lets
every flower sleep tight as a rose
who, in bud, is a baby not yet opened up
to their fullest potential but rests
in position, protected enough to wake up
when the rhythm of daybreak attests
that no matter the level of light it provides—
the circadian process shall see
they fulfill waking callings the dark overrides
to return fully bloomed to the bee
who in turn will enrich them, not only his own,
while providing the Kingdom with sweet honeycomb.
© 2022 Ea Imbrie
Can be sung to the tune of …