Father's socks came, but outside of that, very little of remotest interest has occurred, apart from the very interesting trysts I share with Poppy. She is amazing...she is everything...my creative juices are stirred yet again.
As a green and silver honeybee
I am drawn to the fragrant flower
That blooms in august majesty
Amid the changing seasons.
Her fragile loveliness is coveted
By the jealous springtime.
The heat of summer is tepid mild
Compared to the blaze she ignites in my blood.
No harvest moon of autumn night
Is worthy of exultation
When held against the white fullness of my blossom.
Even the winter's crystal beauty
Pales beside that of the exquisite
Satin petals of her skin.
In the endless swirl of a thousand seasons,
Should there come one perfect day,
It alone should bear her name...Poppy.