and a few lusty insects.
I am a flower,
Sometimes I am bisexual,
I have both stigma and style,
But a force of evolution,
you call it love,
broken me in two pieces.
I am a male flower,
I have a stigma.
But the real beauty,
is hidden in style,
as it leads to the ovary,
for the output of love,
The naughty pollen grain,
And the charming ovule,
met once again,
and fertilized in active embryo.
The earth provided water and minerals,
The air provided carbon that I need.
The sun, a catalytic agent,
had initiated the photo synthesis,
Lo! The leaves,
the wonderful workshops,
are engaged in making food,
for the tiny embryo.
Time watches smiling,
and now! The ovary is a fruit,
with a number of many sleeping embryo.
Oh Love! It’s all due to you!
But the flower had to pay a libel of service,
Her nectar was it,
The thirsty wind too,
carried pollen grains,
to the ovule,
but for the old shaking wind,
who served twice,
Nothing was left,
just the aroma!
(A mini skirt, off course with under garments, for an abstract nude painted by a lovely friend)