A Springtime Story
Hidden and but subtly told
your springtime story does unfold,
A rare feat of pure alchemy
is there for those who care to see.
By eating seeds of whisker size
a transformation before the eyes,
Of feathers muted black and gray
turning gold a bit each day,
Then finally your true colors show
a feast of beauty for all to know.
King of the Maples
On some fine day soon
the sun will stream down
a wedge of light
thrust through the gray bellied clouds
and pour upon your golden shoulders
and crown you king of the maples
amidst the red bud regalia
where you sometimes hold court.
You do not fear to share yourself
among us commoners
and distribute your riches almost carelessly
but none the less generously
and by doing so
you sometimes save a soul or two.
For you have labored
in fields afar
and battled against the same hard foes
and in your soft mannered victory
you have truly turned to gold.