Ode to Dormancy

Awaiting spring, I learn to honor

Dormancy -
Bare branches, buried bulbs,
The hard knock of rose hips,
The nourishing subterranean retreat,
The silent reclamation of strength,
The patient instinct for self-preservation
That out-waits winter's blast,
The disguise of death that hides
Efflorescence.

Against Despair

I despair of the world and then I see
The blossoms on an apple tree,
The leaf-topped tips of a lilac bush,
A smudge of green, spring's frosted push
Born from winter's cold remains,
Dots of life on pale gray frames.
If such bare bones are still alive,
Then hope, perhaps, can be revived.