There is a flower, young and
with petals soft, a pastel bloom,
Whose fragrance on the summer air
inspires the minstrel in his tune.
The one who through the meadow green
may stroll on such a lovely day,
Must pause to see what God has seen,
this flower He made from sun and clay.
So, pondering Gods handicraft,
a better craftsman man becomes.
This flower encountered on his path
has made of him a worthier son.