What am I thankful for?
Why, there are countless blessings awaiting at the door,

Reader, my most zealous prayer of thanks,
Bestows a simple peck of a gentle stream on the banks,

A flower is what it’s called in words,
But it’s more than just a tamed whisper of sound- it’s as sweet as the first love song from the newborn birds,

So after a toasty season of licks from Jack Frost,
Nature’s masterpiece compares to no other cost,

A striking kiss from the sun,
In the mist of gloom and scare a flower can truly stun,

To shun the chill,
The shard of grass was missed if you will,

A painter’s paintbrush sells nothing of passion,
But the blossoms stroke ardor across weary fashion,

How simple as a tulip,

How complicated like a rose,

Can there be anything as indescribable as such a bloom,
As intricate as the yarn in the loom,

Tell me how to pry open such a dreamy, beautiful kiss,
To blow a wish to everlasting bliss.