The tiger lily in the sun unfurls

Its red tipped orange a kindred of the sun

Inviting bees to feast upon its curls

The golden pollen seems from heaven spun

The morning glory rather seems demure

Its pale and fragile blooms avoid the glare

The petals soft and pallid, colors pure

Come afternoon, its blossoms hidden there

And then there is the blossom of the rose

Somehow both bold and soft in majesty

A queenly flow’r, it sits in calm repose

And when it fades, it seems a travesty

I wonder at these buds in full array

The genius of Creation on display