Branches bending. Heaven
gusts of grace into this place in time.
The cold of winter starting to unwind.
Amid the buds, a flower's love
for earth and air, the rain and all the sky.
It never had to have a
Birth and growth, a scent supreme -
loving life that dies within the dream.
Illusive beauty opening into the eyes of man.
It never fought or took
a fighting stance.
Yet, sure as all the branches bending
in the springtime breeze,
it lives itself into eternity...
? Michaelette ?