Trees
for weeks now
you've waited
buds filled to bursting
redder now as the day's song
grows louder
as light creeps in
between your sepals
tufted gems
opening slowly
imperceptibly
but surely
upon the branch
Maple you are called
whose elixir
fuels spring's passion
sweetens both bread
and air
tempers the shift
before settling once more
in your sapwood
crimson puffs
on dainty twigs
fit for phoebes
and wrens
swaying in a
pond-rippling breeze
warm enough now
for violas and other posies
for your birth on the bough
as that of stars
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