One flower stands for beauty, two for hope.
More buds begin their version of cross-talk
With tangled leaf and strong, supporting stalk.
Subject to breeze, they sway but somehow cope.
Shadows of butterflies, silk wings complete
Within this cloistered space are also seen.
Their colored layers; texture, pattern, sheen,
Are made from nectar. All the bees repeat
Their buzzing truth that no bloom stands alone,
But echoes every heart and mind and bone.