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


  1. 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.

    1. Thanks you my dear Merril. Sunflowers do have a certain childlike beauty to them. Goofy and clumsy at times, but beautiful, perhaps like children.

  2. 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,

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