the eyes find its cheer
and some gay optimism.
One white flower amongst
them all I choose to keep.
Heaps of flowers all around
and my heart is happy with
dollops of colourful excitement,
but one small white drop
keeps my senses filled.
I revel in the colours of joy
and one white flower
peeping in from between
numbs my heart to ecstacy.
I stoop to pick, to keep, to care
and stop. Is it there for me?
Do I deserve? What if it is for
someone else who shall make a
garland and the white speck of
simple purity shall deck a royal
neck or His divine feet?
I do not deserve. I have nothing
to offer. I have no rights to gain.
The pool of flowers smile at me
as I offer my dew-wet choice to Eternity
with a silent prayer and a content smile.
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