They’re trying to get in.
Shoving the air out of the way,
tugging at my trellis.
They think they are pretty charming,
flouncing in spring frills, disguising
their desire with pink cot pastel.
Can’t they see what they look like?
Tarts like them don’t care. Indecorous.
Pushing their frou frou. Too many petals.
I know they are “only nature”.
But let them in? They would sweep us up gladly
to feed their sour fruit.