you wake,
deep within
the bark,
while we
still think

it’s winter

you somehow know,
to start your work
before the world outside

seems ready

you somehow trust
the coming of the sun,
by winter’s darkest,
coldest hours

what memory!
what timing!
if you needed me
to tell you when,

you would bloom next year!
just how is it,
that you know,
the time is right
to blossom?
Would you
tell me
if you could?
Would you
show me how
to know
when I am ready?
Could you
teach me
to believe
in the coming
of the sun?