Classic Poem

Various flowers' bowls and cups
as they open their forbidding lids
and spurt blue and yellow pollen
some of it
falls, as it comes, into the marsh,
turns into whorls or stripes
and is quietly gliding, avoiding now here, now there,
the water stone-leek roots that poke out glaring green leaves.
Yet those girls standing on the platform,
one of them just never stops laughing,
all the others stroke her on the shoulders, on the back,
and do many things, but no matter, she doesn't stop laughing