The Lotus
Green are the eyes that gawk at her,
but tongue can’t defy her praise.
Daisies gaze grudgingly in her direction,
as gentle breeze beckons, Please bow.
The scent of her perfume draws bees from far afield;
the buzz is in everyone’s ears.
News come to her with strong sex appeals.
All floras fall down on their knees.
A gust of wind brings whimpers from weeping willows,
and soft dandelions’ roars.
He sits on yonder blue grass,
with soft eyes he stares at her;
sheltered under a yellow jacket with blue bells and bachelor buttons,
harboring a sickening desire to be with her.
Bulbs shine radiant in the early spring, Siberian quills.
Blue are the hyacinths and daffodils,
they lost everyone’s love.
Her delicate pink,
perk up by the dawn’s slight light
and the dew that bath her at night.
Her petals faintly ruffled by the young wind’s caress.
God, she looks lovely in that perfect pink dress
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