In Blossom.

temperature’s rising, but the buds still refuse to grow
“he loves me, he loves me not,” played out on broken twigs
with no petals to be found

if I wanted to play that game I’d be sitting on a heap
of sticks by now
can’t just sit and wait for that shit to grow

before I might kick it, paw at the dirt
trying to force something there that is not

the difference is now, I know
just cause the bloom ain’t out don’t mean it’s not there
you feel it, you’re at the root
maybe the trees are still bare, but come spring,
and the green returns

so maybe I water it, ease the growth on its way
like a house plant
but even that’s still got to grow on its own

why stress over it anyway?
the beauty is, it’s coming, it’s growing
a little faith is all you really need
the seasons continue to change

quit playing with sticks
there’s beauty in dirt
without it, where would the flowers bloom

no need to force it
one day you’ll look up
and realize you’re covered in petals