I hear fiddlehead
tunes unfurl and play
for the lady nestled
in bleeding hearts
while licorice adorns
large leaf maple
and sword clashes
with stinging nettle
for the maiden’s
delicate hand.
One rivulet murmurs
condolences to the common
cottonwood sapling bent
from January’s freezing rain
deer, dear and hart’s tongue
drape and drink beneath
the bulging branch
of a grand old white oak-
a swan’s neck curve
across my path-
years of storm survival
offer a graceful arch
for me to travel over
or under, my choice,
with the reminder
that I do not have to grow
straight and tall and thin
to be magnificent.
