Her sweet, pitted fruits

swing low for gentle hands to grab

that nurtures life with a nectar

and bleeds for the minds

of her kind.


willed by her sceptre

now is the time

for lips,

fastened by The Other,

to sing again.


In the shadows

her roots delve deep


steady a crown

of apple blossoms

in bloom

that plume

and bear the weight of new fruit.


and when she falls

she buries her pips

to sprout in new soils

and depart from her lips

the ancient wisdom that guides them

to her queendom.


It belongs to them all. 






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