My Lover’s Flower

By: Suzy Suburbanite

My love is a gardener.
She has but one flower;
A flower delicate and needful.

My love is a gardener.
Her fingers a steady plow;
Her tongue a buzzing bee.

My love is a gardener.
Tending her patch carefully;
Nurturing her yearning bud.

My love is a gardener.
Cultivating my sodden furrow;
Compelling my flower to bloom.

My love is my gardener.
My flower is her own.




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And who says suburbia is a cultural wasteland.

suzy999999@yahoo.com
Copyright 2002 Anonymous, Arlington VA USA