The gardener renders long toil
For a rise from the womb of the soil,
Germination for sole fertilization,
A child to be father in destination,
Beams of blooms all over just born
All of a sudden, the flowers feel shorn,
On the raid for pluck them in sulk
The shovel of female folk in bulk
Falls on the shining beauties
For their daylong gaieties:
Glows of hues, waves of scents
Graces of lilts, joys of ascents.
The hunt of the female to pluck
So soon for the flowers' ill-luck
To deck them in the hair-knot
To enrich their charms a lot
The blooms feel them selfish to kill
Just for their daylong thrill
Before they love to sway aloft
In their home lovely croft
With their winsome glitters
In spree as their free offers.
When plucked by unkind fingers,
The flowers shed the rivers of tears
When deprived of the fest of pleasures,
As the host to feast with their treasures
For the joys of senses until their fall
Transient but excellent to enthrall all.
When their eyes welled with tears
Their hearts filled with fears,
The females in joy-towers said to flowers,
"We adorn you, so adore you at all hours."
Published
POETCRIT
Jan-Jun 2022 Vol. 35, No. 1
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