Flowers in class, the young girls ripple
and chatter
laughing together in twos and threes
their pages rustling
their pens swirling
between breezy fingers...
Lips: rosy pistiles, hair wheat-swaying....
their teacher is the gardener
standing gazing with critical approval,
clippng here, straightening there,
a one-hour deity,
sun across the heavens that they turn towards,
each with her own intentions
and ready to uproot,
leave the garden and
deflower.
LRH
2.14.06
Linda Hepner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/maidens/
