a stale metaphor
of hope and renewal
appears now

portraits in desperation

bursting forth
full of life
perennial

gracefully they bend upward
with the confidence
of youth and nutrition

oblivious to the buffering
winds of april’s nature
or mother’s current mood

will grass follow
their folly
as the trees
surely must

therefore
is it not
completely so
absurd

perhaps hope might suffer
the same fate
and live

m(-_-)m