Dare I raise my young, taut head
when winter still slinks round, pounce-ready—sneaky like that?
There is sun and wind and water and will,
and my face yearns to breathe it all in.
Dare I expose my defenseless self
when life is short-lived, petals weary—fragile like that?
There is wood and sap and strength and stretch,
and I can’t help but drink it in before the dark call—
the long fall that cuts my splendor short.