Why do flowers grow?

Dawn like a thief falls upon me, 

Gold as the honey that drips from

The hives of the bees 

Gold as the ichor that the Gods bleed

And as I’m transfixed on the constellation of wildflowers 

that dot the grasses,

I yearn to know more,

While the sun melts the frost off the young leaves, 

I ask myself

“Why do these flowers grow?”

Do they grow for the insects,

to provide nectar after the butterflies 

flash their iridescent wings in a plea?

Do they grow to beguile,

To dream upon stars and fireflies

That shimmer translucently

in the moondust of the night?

Do they grow to be picked,

Picked between the claws of a dove,

Picked for all the people who are loved

Picked by children who chase everything 

That cannot be explained?

But then the wildflowers begin to rustle,

The wind tickling their petals of periwinkle

That reflect the blazing rays into the earth 

which stirs in its sleep

And then they whisper in my ear,

“We grow to be free”