THE FLOWER ERE BLOOMING

Oh, how she longs not
To be tweaked
By the callused schoolboy's hand
At the base
Of her beauty,
And then mutilated
With the dismembering
Of each of her velvet petals
By careless friends,
But to be lovingly chosen,
Plucked from a myriad
Of colors and fashions
At the base of the stalk,
And then nestled into a crystal vase
Brimming with fresh water
That nourishes her
Until she stands,
Stripped of her furled frocks,
Baring her full beauty.