The rose no more knows
its own beauty
than the chrysanthemum
does its scent.
The birds will carry the seeds,
the bees will pollinate the flowers
but it is left to us
to recognize the abject beauty
nature willingly unfolds
before us, it is our
Eden, small moments
of perfection which we
so often ignore, which we
unthinkingly lay waste to,
and we who must learn
to mourn what we can
never hope to recover.