A jade shoot
springs forth from
clumps of soil,
braves the morning chill,
waits for Mother to cover her
with a little yellow rain hat.
Cradled by the sun,
she leans forward in a regal bow.
I poke around the old wine barrel,
tickle her brothers and sisters.
Wake, little ones. It is time.
Copyright © 2012 by Christopher Chaffin – All rights reserved