Resting in 'selfness', flowers colour forth, with
Brilliant hues. They do nothing but be
What they are, and can therefore wholly give
Of themelves with intensity, while we
Have to be so much to many. Our faces
Have manifold sides, but trying the still
Serene 'being' with which nature erases
All else, we too can find quiet and thrill
At the peace felt inside. Like the flower
We have a beauty, though hidden, that shines
From our core with awareness. Power,
Resulting from calm, means we can refine
Every moment, then colour with love our
Own self. Stillness does for us as with flowers.
Fay Slimm
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/speaking-of-stillness/
