Mothers Day

the springtime frost
has been tricky this year;
an early thaw and a late freeze
have left for dead
the skyward reaching
branches of my little tree,
turned to ice the tender veins
that had just begun
to draw up nourishment from the earth.
now from its crown of blooms,
my young tree stretches skeletal fingers
toward the summering sky.
bared branches that no longer live,
dead they will remain
until the whole tree dies,
returning to the earth
to begin the cycle anew.
I still have faith that life,
against all odds,
will one day follow death.
but, sometimes, when the days drag on,
this life strikes me as a terribly long time
to carry daily a heart burdened
with the bare, dead branches
of a long gone spring.