I speak in flowers –

In silken threads of nectar,

Stitched by the languid arachne.  

In crystalline petals quivering,

At the wooing of the wind.

In coquettish shoots prodding,

The sable velvet of the world.


A slender arch of rose-tinged white,

For a keen, crisp spring.

A curl of delicate green,

For a full-bodied summer.

A velveteen mink of pollen,

For a deep, dusky autumn,


But it has been a long winter for me,

A winter of harsh razed hinterlands.

It has been a bitter winter for me,

A winter of brittle seeds and wilted buds.

Look, here comes a hand, cruel and calloused,

That wrenches my soul from my belly,

And, with a tortured wail, plucks me by the roots.