I bud with the maple tree
	this Spring.
As insignificant as we seem,
	come summer,
	we shall grow, 
and make manifest our promise.

Come first frost…
	our colors will change,
	our pigmentation turns beauteous,
	as experience will become this adult body
	into which I’ve settled.

As our days are spent,
	whether as bud or as autumn leaf,
	we bring ideas to fruition.

And despite the promise of this Spring,
	I regret all I have now
	is this bud
	on a maple tree needing pruning…
	In a yard someone else has landscaped.

~ From 1984-1985