Bent Near to breaking by her burden of fruit, swollen with seed In that thrashing by wind Bearing down on the sun in her labor— of Need to bear the pain to bring her yield to his hands— her harvest of warm juicy softness
Gone— the upright reach of untouchable spring When stems, stern and smooth wore a lace-beaded bodice of bloom of coral chiffon First leaves a scarf with a fringe of lime green wrapping her gifted and lean to the buzzing
She was lighter than dew to the amateur insects smeared with her
Her only accessory-- a robin They had left as evidence they had ravaged its song
Now broken and leaking more damage endured Ripe fruit in rough hands He leans against limbs by his weight sternly pressed so suffused in the fragrance of peach intoxicants which he will have--
He is lost to his lust He is forcing his need into another year's beauty
asserting his claim over and over again of that lost and ancient bounty