So from the pressing cries, “With me, with me!
Do spurn all other suitors; be my mate!
Attention’s valves constrict, and from the sea
Of being do choose me to germinate!”
The fauna cry with blooded, frantic plea
And quickened pulse, and leap with lust and hate.
The flora simply burgeon urgently,
And do not seem to dally with their fate.

It’s underneath the gorgeous pageantry
Of leaf and bloom (for what they truly be
Is solar cell and billboard) that they rate
The wins and losses of their gametry.
They drink of sun and store the starch to sate,
They’re also served, who only stood to wait.