Muted Worship

All reverence to the sun and rain
without a mind, without a name,
muted worship in fullness attending,
flowers stand erect with no bending,
praying in silence but hearts out loud,
from humble soil and standing proud
with crimson suits and Sunday’s best
they meet their maker with a lordly chest.
Flowers with no mind but total devotion,
pray with nothing else to set in motion,
go to the altar with fullness of heart
and a light that shines from out of the dark,
from beneath the ground, their place of birth,
yet to feel the rain to navigate the earth
and hear the voices of the vernal wind
and find the Sun God, their true religion.

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