Sunflowers by Heather M. Browne

Sunflowers singed their holy heads,
focused solely on celestial sun,
forgetting their need to drink,
to wash clean their faces dusty dirt,
cool their burning heat,
and draw deeply into parched roots.

They turn their blackened faces to the sun,
drying up the little left,
believing touch souly mattered .
Plead blessing upon their withered seeds.
Missing conception begins within.
Life starts in root
in feeding
in nurture
in love