Poetry writing

There are times when I read some poems,
nice words knitted together to be harmonious
and makes life into a Hollywood romance,
we cry sentimental tears over the trivial.
My almond tree looks like an oversized spider’s web,
it pains me to look at the tree,
but I also know, say, a month from now
It will strew pink petals on my way be verdant,
a princess in the domesticated landscape.