The Young Medlar

by tfawcus

Our medlar is a graceful tree;
she's young and lithely limbed.
The breezes tug enticingly;
she curtsies to the wind.

In spring she sports her crinkled blooms,
a feathered flounce of crepe
set dancing like the sea-tossed spume
that billows round the cape,

and with a shy, coquettish glance
she lures all passers-by.
A honeybee soon joins her dance,
alighting with a sigh.

He offers her his abdomen
And hand in marriage, too.
He lisps, as on his knee he bends,
"Give me your anther, do."

She sprinkles him with golden dust
And presents her pistil,
His little heart, consumed in lust,
soon becomes asystole.

He lurches breathlessly away,
weighed down by bags of pollen,
a fickle man, to her dismay;
Such stigma, now she's swollen.

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Poem of the Month contest entry

Recognized

#192
2020

For those not versed in botany...
anther: the male, pollen-bearing part of the flower
pistil: the female part of the flower
stigma: the sticky part of the pistil

for those not versed in medical matters...
asystole: the absence of ventricular contractions in the context of lethal heart arrhythmia (the poor chap was lucky to survive).

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A cautionary tale.

The Young Medlar

by tfawcus

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