1
New leaves like yellow lace
filter late-day sunlight gently,
letting through a fragile glow.
This is no sacrifice for them.
As they drink in
the light becomes them.
Our serendipity!
We drink it, too.
2
Tiny tender new leaves shimmer
when the breeze comes by —
their first experience at ecstasy?
And then as one they sigh,
content.
Some trees bow, bare still —
jealous? or just waiting.
The bluebird will come.
— Mary Louise Ruehr