Sugar

I prune these roots I’ve planted in my soul Vines, buds and branches still stay whole So flowers bloom and waft their fragrance for any who might pass this room and like a place to stay One morning I would surely love for some cooing mourning dove to find a perch suited to cling The creature could be anything Especially if it might sit and sing with me But hummingbirds spit to and fro Swirling round my soft afro not so much a thing to hold longer than perhaps to touch Delightful but they come and go and they don’t sing they only hum There must be sugar in my hair