Brilliant, bell-like,
twisting one by one,
rising, and stemming,
praising every sun.
In soil thick
with clay and stones,
rooting what’s theirs
to anywhere,
they fade at noon
and face with dignity
each near defeat.
Meek and unpampered,
solid blue and white,
they thrive quietly
in soft light’s gaze,
and grow untended,
calmly feeding
on what’s left behind,
as if to understand, they
grow from what they find.
