A black bee waits at a bamboo stalk

With ejected nectar from marypops,

Not robbed from flowers slit by the side,

But it shall wait until spring on hops

Northern blackbucks, with their corkscrew horns,

Rubbing them on elf green shrubland souls,

Emulating doe skin or moulting

Or it tried to- until spring unrolls

Ruddy goose, heads bobbing to and fro

Like if the sun had bathed in the hues

From the sea in which flamingoes drowned

Their salmons off, cross the beamish blue

The red heads swallowing lotus stems,

One half returns on green lotus lap

In hopes of a mate, who'll lick it clean

Until all fall prey to time's springtrap.

~Ajay

18/1/18