The moony wood & pine
sigh & bow to create our path,
evenly blank & in love.
Thoughtless as they must be
yet how must they love us
to open their frosty springs,
their fragile, newborn life,
mourning all the while the trodden
leaves & critters of late,
clasped to their muddy bodies.
Last year, the years before,
all crushed & forgotten.

Always they allow us back in,
as if to welcome us home.
We are invited back
to our fragrant roots,
their floral roots,
in love.