As a tender seed is she in a woman
Until her soil is made fertile.
She grows in the womb, a little sprout.
She then peaks up from the soil, a little green stem
And when she comes of the age of lovemaking
She is a beautiful, supple flower.
She becomes pollinated,
And her flower wilts, sags, droops
Until it becomes a fruit.
Her fruits drop to the earth
Each with their own seeds
To sink into the soil
With nutrient fresh fruit.
She withers and dies
And her fruit repeat the process all over again.
B. K. Neifert 