Like the petals of a flower ready to shrivel,
at the touch of anything but not of its own
but the flower has to bloom
the other will reach beauty and wither away with duty
And the budding tendril waiting to untwine from the shrivel of umbiliciwill
live each chapter blossoming and knowing its fate to
surrender to incarnation of part and parcel such is
the mother of a son,as is she to her own.