Love is sweet like nectar and ambrosia
Stored in the vaults of a full blown flower-
Child of time’s youthful spring.
Its fame’s fragrance is wafted along
By the gentle omnipresent breeze.
Its sweetness exists even if the flower withers away
If it is discovered by the diligent bee
And not a tippler like the lazy butterfly
And the beetle and the honey sucker.
Love lives on in the annals of the honeycomb
For future generations to taste.