Sight sees,
on Sundays,
beds of bowing
sunflowers, bowing
in beauty, not weeping
from weary, caught under
careful clouds; to comfort, not
to crush, sweet simplicity in growing
gardens, growing gold, going on, going green.
Sight sees, on Sundays, harmony reigning majestically.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
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Damien B. Donnelly 
Beautiful, Damien. I like “bowing in beauty, not weeping. . .”
Coincidentally, I just read a post about sunflowers used as a memorial and fundraiser for research for childhood brain cancer.
Thanks you my dear Merril. Sunflowers do have a certain childlike beauty to them. Goofy and clumsy at times, but beautiful, perhaps like children.
Lovely! Your poem matches with the feeling I have when I walk through a certain part of my hometown where a lot of sunflowers can be found in the gardens. Thank you!
Much love,
Steffi