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The Sunflower

The sunflower,
Lord of the annual bed,
Rising alone and aloof;
Tapping the earth
By the old garden shed
And peering out over the roof.

My sunflower,
Grown from a small and striped seed
I saved through the cold winter days,
The seasonal race
You did easily lead
My prize then your bright coloured gaze.

But sunflower,
King of the colourful crew
Straining right up to the sky,
Please whisper to me,
And answer me true:
Why have you to grow Oh so high?

Oh gardener,
Working upon the good land,
The answer, if you will believe,
Is the higher I climb
O'er the rest of the band
So the more of the sun I receive.

(Written July 1996)

poem by John Carter Brown
Added by Poetry Lover
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