Barberton daisy
Foto: Canva
Let my words caress you,
my gentle hands are thornless,
here to charm you, not to harm you,
in these arms, I stress, you are not homeless,
never let any greenflies tell you lies
my iris doesn’t chase rabbits, yes, my iris.
Let my words caress you,
I am no butterfly acting like a moth
chasing flames or flitting from fuchsia
to foxglove, like faltering Amur falcons
who scarper in the month of uLwezi
to distant lands without saying goodbye.
Let my words caress you,
Imagine a cow without its cattle egret,
no less, in you I see my red, red gerbera,
my words are neither wasps nor bees,
here to slurp up your sweet nectar
and then quickly disappear like dew.
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