The Birch Tree

the graceful birch, straight ahead
where the forest begins, a white cluster
the old wood has fallen
and rotted to riches
feeding the daffodil shoots
pushing upward, splitting the earth
tender tree, a white beacon
stands by the dark forest edge
this is a time for promises
made to each morning begun

the sap, so sweet before the first green,
becomes bitter when the year starts to age

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