Its branches, brittle and brown, stretch up and flower out
It looks like a giant shaving brush
Dead now, among the dormant trees on the far lawn
Here in the dead of winter
.
But I have seen it before, many times
And in weeks I know it will be aflame
With green leaves and yellow blossoms
And will grow, tender and supple, like a swelling stream
With each day of sunlight
.
All of that life is inside it now
Hidden, and waiting for the call
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