I wonder
how they seem to
start from nothing,
forming themselves
in secret places
until they emerge, fully-formed
miniatures, as they are today.

Immature
and insignificant
fruits which have
only rain, though often fierce,
and earth, though seldom rich,
and sun, though even that not essential
to help them through life.

Remember
so few weeks ago
how it stood, as if deprived
of life yet determined to live.
Its dark denuded branches
twisted into a wry smile
of one who knows

that surely
Spring follows Winter
and Summer Spring -
Death follows Life
and Life Death.
Return in Autumn and taste
its perfect fruits.