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SUBJECT: ARTICLE TITLE: NURSE FLOWER GENRE: LOVE/ROMANCE

Category: /General/

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The power of the foxglove lies in its tail, because it is here the bee sucks up its nectar. Such malady is not a good metaphor for fourteen year olds you may say. Fourteen year olds in our world? Not even five year olds! E're heard of the girl who started menstruating at five and had a baby then who was like her twin while they attended the same schools; and got taught by the same teachers (I believe they copied notes together!)?

Will Water Wirrow is the tail of the other side of Magma Tune II, a flower of a living brand: a mobile flower of different colors ranging from red to pink: I have not short-circuited words - I harp on love. Twin negations; in the times of sick-sisterism and broth-brotherism or the Husbandman syndrome or the Kush Henry syndrome or Brotherly love, as I call it, true love exists: call it the x-factor.

Why? Why do most women miss love and most men the same? It is not found on the highways or hedges, except bubonic laps, trashed undees and rusted pipes; it is seldom spread about like smog for all to see - true love folds like the dider's dias that sleeps on being perturbed: which wing? Who then could rouse it? - the Nurse flower that labored and gathered and catered for Norton? Simple. The later is a rule of quest, for as it has been found, the shortest distance between a person or thing and where or a thing they should be or meet is what is in their heart. Location! Location!! Location!!! will not fail to be the best market strategy; love is somewhere waiting - you must conjure out space and time by bearing the events - daily that shift and swirl you there, no matter how slopazious or painful they may be or appear - love has a date - and an exact spot and time. This meal of consortment never fails. Yet, it is advisable for some (old school models of looking tattered or too shouty don't hold in this pre-23rd century world - they would be silly efforts of sinking a titanic of love's carriage for a mail marriage or post marriage - imagine a posted wife that doesn't suit your taste! You would kill yourself or her if they escaped your titanic anger!), it is a contrado - women now for heaven's sake pay their dowries, pay for their weddings and run the home - why should love ask why (it even makes the milk of love sweeter) for genuflecter or lily-like men who simply are not - bless heavens - given the opportunity - and when you're in such shoes, you should not be shy about it (it is found that such Milkboys or toyboys usually throw in all their loyalties to the marriage no matter how challenged if at all it befell them so, and they were Mr. Right - not just a dusted piece of misfortune salvaged or remedied in desperation) but fall into love's size shoes of no modest kankry called the x-factor. Don't insist on the other way round if this is your befallement. Where these often endowed and all-else- except-marriage blessed ladies mostly in their forties, fifties or even thirties are involved, these should simply bow to love's demand beckoning at them (it is also proven that most of these largee mummies take care of their Milk boys similar to how a mature mother takes care of her son with extreme affection and care, with loyalty and a lace of honey - you know? - and respect of an onyx set in diamonds) which has not as I'll posit, make them puppets or weaklings (such men usually have eternal fuels of fire and naughty brains for the days of fire - anywhere, anytime, courtesy of well-crafted love or -so what?- love boys! It could be the sweetest thing you can taste! So, don't be ashamed about its provids: it is a honey apple, sweeter and greater than conventional honey ants you may despise: call it sucks butter and not even the sugar mummy trash - a dynamic taste of being both a mother and a lover to one soul; even provider! (Nothing spoil!). And if you're for Mr. Right, there is a day the space in-between you and him will burst open before both your eyes. Just make sure your engines will still be on and you grapping the wheels and your feet on the brakes when that change comes.

And remember, Charles Darwin once in his quest towards his lovely theory of evolution to take it a step higher was accosted by some student of it by a flower with stamen which was so long that it was doubtable that an insect or bird could pollinate it. But Darwin insisted there would be such a pollinator for it as nature abhors a vacuum. Finally, the blue Reeder was found with exactly the length of the stamen as the length of its beak. It was just the miracle of design, which beats the miracle of discovery for the patient.

At meal's liquor's drops - the white dash in every early tapper - either male or female - and if you've ever tapped that wine at anytime in life from meal's floor, you would cling to it - for its type - it fixes an angle cast for all its thrusts - they'll surely find one someday at meal over.

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