I lift my head
And I marvel at these pink Spring trees
At the way they reach their hands so far
At the way they never stop praising
Never doubt their welcome
The truth is
They make this season great
Lend their scent to the snow-cleaned air.
They’re smiling at one another
Not intimidated by one another’s brilliance
With one snap
I can pull off one flowered limb
With one steady swing
And a newly sharpened blade
I could cut them down
But no one does
They’re too beautiful to be a bother
I lower my head
And I scowl at these plain, ungrateful hands
At they way they keep themselves so hidden
At the way they forget to reach out to others
Always keep hidden
The truth is
They make this day sad