No longer a sapling,
But a budding fruit tree
You try to blossom,
But it never works out-
Whether it be forces of nature or
Your own hesitation

This time, it’s different.
Joy is meant to be released,
In the little seeds
That have begun to sprout

Your curve is fading,
Gradually rejoining the rest of your trunk
You have borne your fruit,
Yet a bite of this apple leaves me
With a sickening feeling that
It was never ripe