The almonds are blooming
and death is here
The daffodils wave gently
and death is here
Green springs up
and death is here
Spring comes after
the losses of winter
The sun is warming
Life and death are here.

Almonds in bloom remind me of semen. Their smell, their petals, everything I can think of just makes me think of lost loves. It took Paul Verlaine to point this out, and a mid-70's treatise on magick to point me to this particular poem.

They're spring flowers, but lost in the Northeastern American pageant of flowers in the Spring: not as early as crocuses, nor as showy as cherry or Bartlett Pear, I often wish they were planted more widely. The only tree I know was in the yard of an architect I didn't like, I was a renter, and he was rabid on "owners' rights" in the neighborhood. Wish I had more to say...

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