Being There by Chance

Being there or here
in winter you see snow
hide gardens, but pines
stand grouped. Straight.
Unyeilding sentinels.

There is a chance
for rebirth. Ancient
promises are fulfilled
in cycles of petals.

April is less cruel
than the later leaf drifts,
the cold wind of change,
but even the brittle stasis
of frozen stems await
blithe spring's renewal.