Symbols I sew with lilies can’t compare–
stems shrivel, petals rust, and roots will die–
but you who inks my pen will never dry–
when drizzles damper, still you’re always there.
Your flattery excites the tide I ride–
they venerate lame hands to dance again–
your eyes open and lap each seed I spread–
they offer life beyond the womb inside.
The season’s labor great distance portend
another year denied our chance to meet–
I gnash the morsels picked off from the screen
but appetite can’t survive the portions.
The farmer plows each day but never reaps–
I share my fruit but still hunger for meat.
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