The kiss of another had become monotonous and less magical.
The touch of a lover had proven thoughtless and less tactful.
A chore to be dealt with, swiftly gotten out of the way.
Almost to age sixty, limited number of days.
But love is not what convinced The Blossom Man to stay.
Robust assets did not keep him from running away.
It was refusal of another, a stranger with whom he'd lay.
The Blossom Man loved love, anywhere to be found, I'm afraid.
He grew where he could, be it sun or be it shade.
So he found it all where it stood, no he could not wait
For the rays to come step foot in his way.
He ventured out in every direction, for his bed had yet to be made.