Bright treasurePulsing like wildfireBy the pasture gate,Drawing paper-white pawns And black knights,Butterflies to your orange rooks.Butterfly milkweed.

When a  little girl finds music,Her world opens, expands,Her fingers find:New paths to wander down,New roads to dream along.New corridors to explore,New passageways to tomorrow.

Flowers are poems themselvesWritten in God's handSent to touch our heartsTo make us understandHis love for us is pricelessImmeasurable and grand.He wrote for us the prairie flowersLove letters 'cross the land.