In the garden this morning
the apple tree
I see
has raised her naked arms
to the sun
as a plea
for the end of Winter
and a prayer
for the start of Spring,
now just a breath away.

A crow perches
on a bare branch
to rest,
sharpen his beak
and perhaps
plan for breakfast,
while inside
the tree's sleeping marrow
deep within
her stirring womb,
she too has plans--
For her unborn thoughts,
now dormant and unseen
will soon,
she conceives,
become the scent of blossoms
and the shape of leaves.

By: Joseph Lipson