Green shoots fingers clawing

towards the sun above earth

damp from thawing frost (yet real

threat to stirring bulbs).

Not spring, but first hope

of renewal; initial verdancy

a promise of solar heat

and smiles out of doors,

surrounded by colours enough

to make a rainbow jealous –

tomorrow.

Branches still bare are adorned now

with tiny budding gems and they sway

a dance of future summer

tidings, whispers that awaken her

to the chill ache

of loneliness.

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