Who wrote on those flowers?

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What are those letters mother?
So daintily printed on each flower
Who writes them mother?
In such pretty lines of many a colour
 
Of wonderful happening in the moon lit wood
You do not know my dear little son
When wise sages preach, how to do good
By forest angels this writing is done
 
To flowers from where do colours come?
Such beautiful shades we have none
Mother, mother tell me how?
I cannot not follow anything now
 
When sun rises and when sun sets
Colourful clouds paint our sky
The dye from there, a flower gets
Such things son, happen on the sly
 
Mother, mother those little birds
Keep glancing at these words
Their excited chirp while speaking
Suggests they know the meaning
 
My sweet little son you are right
Bird songs give much delight
In different tunes what is said
Is recorded on each petal head
 
Flowers above and flowers below
And see little birds flying, galore
Why isn’t this observed every day?
Where do flowers and birds go-way?
 
During the life of our great sage
Nature’s beauty prevailed my son
Humans, animals and even foliage
All rejoiced together as one
 
Mother when I was saying my prayers
The great sage glanced down at flowers
Did you watch him calmly smiling?
As he recalls his past teaching