Stuck like honey,
The budding lily shrinks and quivers.
Those sticky fingers
Grab at her colours.
At every angle they pick and choose,
And pinch at her delicate petals.
They, starving customers
And she, a farmer's market.
Breath hot like summer suns,
Mouth dripping like spring rains.
Where can she go, trapped here
Surrounded by sticky fingers.
Endure it a little longer Lily,
Your stop is up next!