for my mother Ruth Friedland, died April 13, 2018
Paula Panzarella
The month of your death,
green stalks pierce through ground.
In a week or two,
they’re topped with tight buds,
which soon spread open,
explode yellow bursts.
Little suns and stars
decorate the earth.
In front of our house,
the bare tree branches
follow the yellow.
Nibs of leaves appear,
while dainty clusters
slowly weave throughout.
Days pass. No warning
for the bright morning
of full blossoming.
Immaculate white
graces all branches,
competes with the leaves
for viewers’ delight.
I wish you could see
the tribute to you
that Nature bestows
the month of your death.
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