Blossom

Blossom drooping under a hunk of snow:

you struggle to recall when it first shot up,

filling space with new self;

sun-fed, by twilight aglow.

Seems it has always been obscured,

born into this balance of power,

not once felt fresh cells divide,

expectant, glorying in growth. Inured,

it bears its burden with dispassion.
One morning without fanfare
the snow cleaves, slides clean off:
your need for it to stand erect unlessened.