Tulip

The tulip opens wide its lips to taste
Sweet honey slowly dripping from above;
But at times we move with too much haste
To have that which we love.

That stinging itch brought on
By some alarming buzz
Brought not by songs of spring;
But instead her restless spawn.
They find relief only in the rising dawn
But do not indulge in such a fleeting thing;
For our hearts beat out of sync,
With your sun, my stars are gone.

The tulip gilds its grave gold,
Wilting as it learns to bloom,
Glow spent; fading in the cold
With a love revealed too soon.