When the Flowers Sing Sweetly

During the most wondrous of days,
when the sun shines 
its brightest,
I will dance.
I will dance,
I will sing,
I will write and play,
while the flowers
in the meadow
sing so sweetly. 
I will listen to their songs,
their cries,
their whispers of not gossip,
but dreams.
I will sit in the grass,
no matter how ticklish,
I will let the dirt submerge my feet,
while the flowers sing sweetly. 
And,
once spring has drifted away,
as if on a small,
hushed canoe,
I will wish the flowers a 
comfortable sleep,
as they sing their last song.
I will watch them go,
anxious about the year ahead without them,
and will prepare for their marvelous petals,
their lovely words,
and I will listen once again,
when the flowers sing sweetly.