It’s dead, I told my friend, as we walked by,
The hapless victim of a brutal New York winter.
Let’s call the City, find someone to chop it down,
Remove that dead stick from our sight.
I’m only glad I was too busy doing other things to make that call
Because now my little tree has blossomed full of leaves
And every morning greets me at my window
With the softness of its green embrace.
A lesson for us city dwellers losing patience, lacking time --
Life goes slow, meanders, finds its rhyme.
June 4, 2020