I planted a Cherry Blossom at the end of the garden,
the early morning summer sun sang upon it, and
the autumn rain stroked its delicate branches.

Somehow it speaks my mood as I observe it
from the kitchen window; the sun gives a lift;
the dark of coming winter reveals an inevitable

silence echoing my own need for patience
and the hope that a morning will come when
I look out my window and be surprised

by the nascent blossom edging out of buds
that will soon pour a celebration symphony
of what nature gifts to those who must wait.