I can’t take credit for this tree.
I merely own it. The most I’ve done
is never cut it down; I’ve had it pruned for health.
Also, I notice it each spring. You hope you remember
to notice each time they flower, these trees,
since we may be running out of springs.
Waiting for surgery—it likely would keep
me alive, but who could know?—I cried
a few times. I’d be driving, alone,
and think how sorry I’d be to leave my life.
I’d get over that, since my rather long life
had been pretty good.
Now, though, we’re heating the planet badly;
without winter, will there be spring?
Whatever happens, to the world or to us,
we’re running out of tomorrows.
There are fewer springs to waste
not noticing a tree.