Windy Winter's Night
Lips burnt with translation,
searing into words.
Perfect little white flowers
dripping from the nectarine
tree. Roots looking out,
calling to the Goddess.
Praying to end gender bias,
soiled by religion.
I can hear the women sing
on a windy Winter's night.
I can hear the branches
plead for an early Spring.
Copyright © Dean Walker | Year Posted 2006
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