"Of course, flowers are nothing more than sex organs," said the English professor, delighted to be introducing his innocent freshman students to the symbolism of church steeples, dark wells, and Freud's cigar.
Lily White yawns and stretches . . .
Smiling, she preens in the morning sun . . .
Delicate shadows dance on her snowy robe.
She flings it wide, revealing her wares . . .
Open for business,
She awaits a passing bee . . .
While her fragrance calls,
"Over here. . . here am I. . ."
She awaits a passing bee . . .
While her fragrance calls,
"Over here. . . here am I. . ."
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