Waxing poetic

The thirsting flowers push heavenward.
Or do they reach?
Turning faces upward, if I stop
they will teach...
"Praise Him all creatures here below,"
A clear Word do they preach,
My attention, my wonder, my worship
All upward beseeched.

I haven't written a poem in forever. I also haven't really just stopped to contemplate anything in a way that led me to set my heart down in verse, either. There's something inward that needs to slow down... This poem is something from time I finally grabbed this week to just sit and look at what God has placed around me - available to me daily - but that I tend to rush past.