TALE OF THE FLOWER

The bees had been and gone leaving behind,
Drooping again with the stale touch of time,
And swaying sickly in the roughing winds,
The dangled strips that crimsoned in the sun.

The sun fell in rushing drops of yellow;
Rain blew in gusts across your dripping face;
The wind flamed in fiery gleams round your head
As silence shimmered round your storm-lashed trunk.

I watched it all through the browning autumn
Bees that tampered with the flower of faith;
Vows of everlasting love that were forged;
The heat of passion that flared your morning

When after the heat came, like war, the rains
That tore their violent course in jaded streams
As lightning ripped across your maiden skies,
The tale of Nature blushed across your face.

I watched and watched it all, yet could not see:
And when you swooned to Nature’s sick commands,
And when your bloom was dogged with bastard seed,
Still, i could not glimpse these petalled causes.