Poem: The Character of Flowers

Can it be said (with certainty or not) about the things that grow?:

There, see it! That’s (fill in the blank) incarnate!

They do not feel, we suppose.

So is it not somewhat fatuous, silly as a schoolgirl discovering the pulse

Of a bass guitar limning the rhythm of adolescence,

To call wisteria wistful.

To detect melancholia in a lily.

Persistence in petunias

Gentility in geraniums?

Yet to abjure the silent screams of the impatiens and hibiscus and roses

Is to deny their collective wish

To flourish

Tall and ever skyward,

Like colorful immigrants determined to make something of themselves

In a new land.