around the redbud tree
the sleepy daffodils
are beginning to wake up
and poke fragile arms
out toward the sky,
little knowing
that a killing cold
is on the way.
if i could i would
whisper to them
to wait until
the light lengthens;
to dream more
deeply of spring;
to linger longer in
the quiet embrace
of the earth.
but what mere mortal
has ever been able
to turn back time?
