Lotus flower

I am of ancient descent,
making sweet love to water.
I was born on a Tuesday,
hidden in a piece.

A soldier ate me in war,
his anus went for meetings.
He tried to use me for tea
when I came at noon.

Flower, flower, who’s your mum?
who’s your sister, who’s your love?
When you get this, write to me,
write to me poems.

Ruddapoet

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