Sweet Flora by Sptfyr

[sptfyr ()]

Flora
Originally titled "Lily" I wrote this at 15.  I knew nothing of flowers or poetry; only that it was supposed to rhyme. I got an A+ for this which was the beginning of my love for poetry.
Here is the original:

Lily

She waited and waited
and found no mate
to spread her seed
across the land.
Now, winter has come
and time has passed.
The messenger came
to her at last.
But, he was too late
to be her mate.
As time went by,
she passed.

Now the rewrite: (new name)

Sweet Flora

Lovers flit from flower to flower
ignoring flora's lusty dower.
So, there she would wait, a lovely sight
wishing for her lover to alight
and spread her seed with April showers.

She watches from her lofty bower
as Spring succumbs to Summer's power.
but sees no messengers in their flight.
As Summer's sun begins to cower
sweet Flora does mourn her endless plight.

She dreams of Autum's belated knight
arriving at the perfect hour
to stroke the nub within her flower
with fluttering wings that can excite
bringing her joy and complete delight.

As Autumn departs without a fight
her lover arrived upon the site
where love did wait and love did scour
for one to bare her lusty dower
His heart was so sad, he felt contrite.

For, lovely petals that once were bright;
body wilted, her scent devoured
as he sought natures perfect flower.
But, he was too late to be her knight;
sweet Flora did die from Winter's bite.

[DonDi62]

As I read, I get two visions.  I see a flower standing in a field with many such flowers, with bees crawling in and out of all but the one flower, spreading pollen to create new life from the old.  The one flower, ignored by all, until at last one comes by and finds that he is too late to gather or spread the pollen dust, for the age of life is fast closing.  As if watching on 2 screens, I see a young girl sitting alone at a dance, eating alone at a restaraunt, sleeping alone at night, longing for that special someone to find her.  As I watch, I wonder what small imperfection is making her be overlooked, or perhaps it's not an imperfection, just an overabunce of girls from which to choose.  I see her as shy and a bit introverted so that she does not attract the attention of the young men who are flitting around from girl to girl in their search for whatever it is they want from life.  I see her flower, waiting to be pollenated, a thing of beauty in need of the touch from a man to be fullfilled.  I watch as it grows from soft, supple, smooth and beautiful to dried and wrinkled, just as the flower withered.  Then finally someone notices, but by now she is old, and the flower useless.  As she passed, the flowers in the field pass and each has been unfullfilled for posterity, and I must say I love your poem.  I would like your permission to print this one.  I won't do it until I have your consent.  Every time I read it, I will think of the flowers I have touched, and wonder if they were indeed fullfilled.

Don

[sptfyr]

Dondi, I couldn't have explained the poem any better.  You described it exactly how it was intended and quite beautifully at that.  Thank you for taking the time to let me know that you completely understood it and that you like.  You definitely have my permission to make a copy.  This means very much to me.  I love your poetry.  It always touches like no other.  Thanks Dondi, great big hugs to you

[gary bechter]

stylishly elegant , enjoying read..

G.B.