Confusion courses through the final pulses
of a once virile spirit.
The winds of change bawl their cosmic arias
that fall on the deafened flower.
Rooted in affection, oblivious to the obvious connection
between the lacking pollen and the bee.
The yin is keening softly for the feral, untamed yang
and abides in troubled limbo till that momentous age.
A seed, which once was nothing is now a ripened tree
whose beauty is so dazzling that none can ever see.