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Some Love

Some love is like the cactus --
Prickly, a stubborn oasis
In a hotbed of dry desire,
Yielding its tender flower
But once each parched year.
My love is like the cactus.

Some love is like the daffodil --
Fleeting, it rears its yellow head
Like pretty crepe across a frosty field,
Gaily heralding the advent of spring,
Only to die in a blast of frigid air.
My love is like the daffodil.

Some love is like the oak --
Sturdy, tall, standing firm
In an uncertain, fragile world,
Home to the flitting, nesting souls
That nature entrusts unto its care.
My love is like the oak.

Some love is like the rose --
Brilliant, nestling her delicate bosom
In a bed of protective thorns,
That her beauty one may behold,
But only carefully dare to hold.
My love is like the rose.

Some love is like the spider lily --
Briefly, it comes from nowhere,
And nothing, but only for a moment,
Like an occasional wink of light
Assuring me that it lives from year to year.
My love is like the spider lily.

Some love is like the morning glory --
Twining, it reaches hungry tendrils
Around the support it needs,
Pulls itself around and through and over,
Till it suffocates its host and takes his place.
My love is like the morning glory.

Some love is like the pampas grass --
Bending before the angry winds
That cannot sweep away its sturdy root,
Bends stiffly, and holds erect
Its tough-lovely feathery crown.
My love is like the pampas grass.

Some love is like the desert sand --
Lifeless, yet always lying there
Like some vast, dry seedbed,
Waiting, as for droplets and dew
To make of it a rainforest.
My love is, most of all, desert sand.

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