The Orchard of femininity
Fine day sun and sky, I walked in an almond tree orchard
the scholars call it a deciduous bush and the learned
has no artistic sense looking for a Latin name
like the tree would care.
It is peaceful here a feminine place, and no one shouts
“Get off my land you, arsehole.”
The trees are dressed for the ball getting married to spring,
and since they are equally beautiful no competition.
When deflowered they will be pregnant and bear the fruit
called almond; not yet, though, they will look lovely a few weeks more
before taking up the burden of motherhood as
yellow wildflowers nod in harmony.