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I want to flourish here and now

A blossom in its prime.

But happiness, I must allow

Goes in and out in time.

For joy is not a given state,

A height, or destination,

But something you must cultivate

With daily fascination.

Patient tilling can be slow

And some find it abhorrent

But the seed you sow will only grow

In ground that’s fertile for it.

And even after days and nights

Of careful ministration

No fires of passion will ignite

Without, first, pollination.

Rely upon the friendly bee,

The flower propagator

But not every flower’s vibrancy

Attracts a pollinator.

So though I am imperfect,

I repose awhile

I take the time to self

And appreciate my style.

And when one is anointed

With such appreciation

From self, or one appointed,

It’s the spark of glad creation.

And every spark, once realized,

Regardless of the reason,

Must oscillate and vernalize,

And each thing in its season.