The Stamen and the Stigma

Grandma had a garden that she carefully tended to she talked to her fruits and veggies as she made her walk through On this particular day my hardball went astray landed smack in the middle of her green garden inlay Swiftly yet gently she grasped me by the hand proceeded to give me a helluva righteous reprimand all the yellow flowering blossoms among the numerous rows of squash 'twas the only female producer that my hardball had hit so harsh My curiosity drawn to this enigma If I wanted to eat I learned I should take care of the stigma My curiosity drawn to this enigma If I wanted to eat I learned to take care of the stigma All the fine yellow blossoms packed full of staunch sticky stamen Ya'll it meant nothing a'tal without the proud stigmas pheromone call After that haphazard day We often walked through her garden that May I began to look at life in a gratuitous way She would coax and water and sing to that injured blossom each and everyday Yes that 'ol she bud began to wilt I was filled with tremendous guilt Stubbornly Grandma persisted Though I was tempted to resist Compassionately I assisted Come morning dew We witnessed fruit Her squash gave birth that day "The wilt was labor pains " "Such is motherhood," she'd say My curiosity drawn to this enigma If I wanted to eat I learned to take care of the stigma My curiosity drawn to this enigma If I wanted to eat I learned how to take care of the stigma