Some are inordinately enamoured with flowers,

You have too, those pari passu with words.

Others conterminously attracted to swords.

Yet more others with honey,

They never feel satiated or cloyed.

These are mirrored by

In the opposite direction their cynosures operate.

Between these you have multitudes

With an attraction to myriad  combinations of  senses.

If you are curious to know

Where mine belongs,

Onto me, five times come along,

Before dawn,

When my senses are pure and not drowned,

In the miasma of man made clones.

Copyright Haileselassie Girmay