The Poetry Girl. Poem by Subrata Ray

I am a seasonal vase,
Till my orphan -cage,
I can eat and reproduce,
All implied message.

I am made for public pleasure,
The silver pockets,
And political figures.

Ha! By my art,
I am a psychic catch,
The greedy Lusts,
Seek in me residual match,
With flowers made of dollars,
They come and find my touch.

My green, I dress and keep alive,
In my dark lagoon, I shelter ship.

Ah! I am poetry as imagination permits,
Save my, eye, tongue, and charms,
No one gave my any merit!