Upon this flower I shall gaze, 

simple as it’s bloom. 

For God has made you there,

Living in the lighted Son. 

Shall you not go that way?

of spring through to fall.

And Rest In Peace and withered grace,

memoirs of warmer days.

So might you open,

plucked and pressed between.

Pages where I keep you,

A pocket hid from light.

And on the day that I shall rise,

To meet this lighted Son,

I shall bequeath you back again.

To repose upon those hills.

As fare winds blow to stormy tides,

I will hold you once again.

Bathed in the brilliance of blue,

And earth to hold us tight.