The plant itself

Would be diverse

In its beauty.

The blondeflower

Ribbon clipped

And glowing

With the scent of blossom.

 

Or nightshade brunette

Teeming with starlight

In the company of red tipped

Curling petal rinds.

 

But if women grew on trees

They would not survive for long

With a chorus of neglectful men

Empty water cans in hand.

 

The trees would dry and crack,

Die of dehydration

For the inadequacies of man

Cannot be underestimated.