In the midst of a Cold, I wrote this Poem

In the spring,
The sweet blossoms
Open to fill the air with an aroma of
Nature’s womanhood,
And the tender bees float from
Stem to stem,
Humming a tune of
Her bosom and beauty,
And gently stroking her breasts.

But soon, the scarlets and sharp yellows
Will fade to golden brown.
And the heavenly scent will be encased
In a world of crystal tears.
And the small delicate stems curl,
Snap and fall into the dust
Or rather, they are buried in a tomb of
Blinding white
And burning water.

But I always know that those
Petals will once again unfurl,
And warm the earth
With reds, yellows, and whites,
And show their silly face
To the sun.