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.