Un-Naturally

It’s winter,
sighed the Poet.
I welcome the grey misty weather.
Makes me slow down
go inside
after all the activities
of the summer.

“’Tis the season”…
No, it’s not, said the Tulip.
Here I am in full bloom
in someone’s overheated living room
in the middle of the winter.
I am confused.
I am a spring flower
Why am I forced to bloom now?
When will my bulbs be able
to rest, as they used to in winter?

Now they are messing with tulips.
Soon they will be re-designing human
beings, maybe having them born
fully grown.
No teething pains, no sleepless nights
readying the bottle,
no, ready-made beings
for anyone who asks.

I would mourn the innocence lost,
being held in the arms of mother,
listening to lullabies,
a child playing in the sandbox,
the wonderment of discovering
new things, speaking the first word,
climbing a tree,
waiting for Santa Claus,
believing in goodness, trusting
in the promise of happiness.

I like this time of year,
said the White Cat.
The house is warm and cozy,
and they even gave me
A little furry bed to lie on.
in front of the warm fire
Don’t know
what all the fuss is about