Virtually Gina

My womb is a tree that bears no fruit
Year after year, as seasons change
Trees all around it flourish and sprout,
But somewhere inside me, this womb tree remains
Barren, naked, stripped of leaves,
While my wounded ego still believes
Perhaps, someday, this tree will sprout
Until that day, I’m filled with doubt
Somewhere, a pied piper plays on his flute
A song for this womb tree which bears no fruit