Tree at the Corner Where I Turn Each Day

I have watched you all winter, old tree,
          broodingly content, 
          resting on a secret,
Your black-brown body
          careless of the wind, the rain, the snow;
Preening now here, now there,
          but never moving from your seat.
Now your secret is out-
For a brood of wild flowers 
          have pecked their shells, 
          and stand, soft and trembling, 
          under your wings.


To a Tree, by Emma Varies Meyer