Sporadically pink and fluffy;
otherwise green and perky,
inspiring awe at it’s beauty;
nature’s at it’s best.
Looking up to the sky,
trees gaily shed winter’s gloom
and rejoice in springtime bloom.
Overcome by nature’s gallantry,
even neon appears lovely:
fresh as the maple
bursting with florescent yellow clusters
before exposing it’s webby greenery.
And if you looked no further than the trees,
you might overlook your ancestor’s nook,
discretely resting at your feet,
while you reach for a camera to capture
the more fleeting aspects of nature.
But banish the thought quickly,
for such an act would be an invasion of privacy.
What, bring a camera to the cemetary?
Imagine you should capture souls frolicing among the buds:
those arisen briefly to praise the nature of things.
Imagine you should violate a sacred tryst
by bringing a camera into their midst.