First Posted 30-Sep-2014
They remain, every spring a new blossoming.
The marigolds and black-eyed-susans in bloom,
Their scent, their colors, petals soft and sweet.
Some with seeds I can eat,
Others hot with summer’s passion,
Showing a little stigma but not too much.
They look at me less now, I, the old walnut tree,
That once charmed and now annoys them,
Dropping nuts on their heads.
I never lost my hunger for their bloom and scent.
My eyes still follow them as they bounce in the wind,
My heart yearning for summer’s past heat.
I still wish for their secrets deep in the ovule.
I still hunger to taste their fruit,
I still swoon for some fleeting touch of their petals.
They talk about me to their husbands,
Wondering if I am diseased, needing to be cut down,
And made into a crib.