As predictable as sunrise,
as regular as the tides,
in an ancient cadence
appear jonquils and daffodils
who poke their heads through
the last winter snow;
a riot of trees blossomed in white;
forsythia bursting in yellow;
redbud brilliant in lavender and red;
azaleas just in time for Easter.
Finally, enter the laggards of spring –
scrub oak, post oak,
hickory, and cottonwood,
the last to venture out.
Soon everything turns green
in procession towards summer,
all nature in its sequence.
Year upon year, the cycle repeats.
I begin with expectation,
but end with astonishment.
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