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

Categories: Humor, Infertility, Poetry, Trees • Tags: Humor, Infertility, Poetry, Trees