You tasted spring’s young almonds green;
sweeter than vestal nectarine
then all your innocence is lost;
forever to the wind is tossed.
The seed you planted long ago;
time will see it ripen and grow;
as the summer sun slow unfolds,
the carapace no longer holds
Fall harvest fruit is eager reaped;
upon a bride and groom are heaped;
Young virgins take them to their bed
to dream, foretell, of whom they wed.
When the end is near, as foretold
and the winter’s dark, bitter cold
makes the future labored to see
each year blossoms the almond tree.
Whenever the time of the flowering almond trees arrived,
we climbed the tree and played among its branches
and so, among flowers and games,
we contemplated life from our childhood.
rainy day sunshine
pretty almond tree spirit
dancing with our ancestors
frolicking even
with whispery giggling
they are lightening us up
Almond Tree and Prisoners
As a child I lived near a farm a farm that was
next door to a prison camp. Russian prisoners
marched up and down trying to keep warm
it was January with much frost, year of 1945
I thought of this today on my walk passed my
almond tree that is situated so good it catches
most of the westerly sun, yet hidden behind
a Holm oak protected by Nordic wind blasts.
My tree is already flowering, it has pink petals
shivers a bit dressed in a delicate nightdress.
The Russians had to wait longer for their spring
when it came, it was false one, they were sent
home and put in prison camps for surrendering
to the enemy. For some the winter is endless.
An Almond Tree
Elvira was walking her dog, a poodle, in a landscape
of rounded hills, when she fell into a cylindrical
borehole; her dog waited for her to come up again,
she didn´t, and since it was getting dark it ran home.
In the night an almond tree grew out of the hole
it had had white and pink flowers forever blooming.
In the morning people went looking for Elvira,
the dog led the way, and when they came to the tree
it sat down, wagged its tale and happily barked.
Elvira was never found. When the search was over
everyone walked home, but the dog stayed by the tree
only came at night to be fed; and people reckoned
it was the last place the mute had seen Elvira.
The dog was happy playing around the tree catching
falling petals when not snuggled up sleeping by its
trunk, people smiled and called the tree Elvira.
The faithful cur didn´t come home one evening it
had, just like Elvira, disappeared into the long night.
Beside the almond tree a miniature version grew it
too flowered all year; between them gossamer full
of dawn pearls glittered.
Ok. Day
On a day like this
With sunlight
Clear sky and mild breeze
And I know
There will not be a day
Just like this again
There will be other days
Just as good now as the almond
Tree bears fruit.