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WHERE WERE THE TREES THAT BLOSSOMED?  -a poem to an abuser
 

The seasons come and go and yield things new -
Winter, Autumn, Summer - but Spring?
Hidden from view!

The season that for me speaks of hope afresh and light,
was Stolen from me -
Taken that first night!

Wind and hail, in force, engulfed the child,
And through the years they 'mimicked' her,
Her pleas, her tears - unheard, grew wild.

Invading heat filtered down, forced sunsuits to be  worn,
and bare flesh 'ached' to be covered.
She soon again would mourn.

The leaves then fell, as did her 'self',
laid silent on the ground,
Until "they" came, destroyed the peace,
One mound, but "hush" - no sound.

The blossoms still I cannot see, for you have made me  blind,
By taking what you needn't have;-
My body - and my mind!