the pink blossoms have a cold-ice quality
in the shadows where sunlight does not penetrate
a damp darkness prevails among the small forest
of pencil-thin branches striving upwards
where the sun strikes there is candy-warmth
and delicate shades of springtime
looking into the sun from beneath a canopy
of overhanging branches that hum of bees
the pink becomes white
barely countering the strength of light
that streams out of a cloudless morning
my shoulders are covered in discarded blossoms
I too am entering springtime
© Frank Prem, 2002
Frank Prem Poetry 