The flower said to me, “I love it much
like you do. Though I cannot see it come
and wrap itself around you, with its touch
that is what I have come to know as Sun.”
I said “Well--you have something I do not:
I feel its touch only on a warm day.
And then it is abrasive--far too hot
to take the way you do, who sit and stay..”
“Then you are nourished by what you can see?”
“Somewhat.. We need to feel it, too, but can’t.”
“How strange that those who need it more, as we,
cannot appreciate what your eyes grant.”
“But I can tell you how it looks,” I say.
“You are so pretty on a sunny day.”