Lost Children of Science

To the lost Children of science,

sequestered in sterile labs,

untouched by solar rays,

toiling to decode the nature of life,

Beyond Your high walls,

each tree, each flower,

intone pheromone answers,

to all Your many questions,

in their silent language,

offering truths deeper,

than any that can be contained,

within a spoken word.


Remembered or forgotten

I watched the bright orange marigolds

wither and fall

leaving room for new buds

to blossom in the Sun.

Are the early flowers forgotten,

lost forever to the new day?

Instead they are borne along,

remembered in each young petal.