Cupid

Cupid?

On this cold February day wind blows from
the North and my almond tree sings of love,
unfulfilled and lost affection and undefined
longings; in the tree’s case not being able
to move, standing still all day with roots, not
entwined with the one you love, but to, say,
a staid olive perennial, gnarled and ugly to
look at. It hopes that its song and words of
love will be heard by the slender almond tree
in the next field, the one that wears pink
flowers, now in spring and stands too close
to a pompous oak where stygian ravens live.
Fret not my tree I’ve heard your words and
and will relay your message at twilight time.