The seasons express themselves
Whether we encourage them or not.
All the pretty cultivars,
Tulips, and dogwoods
We’ve put where we can see them
When the sun comes for blossoms,
Are irrelevant to spring
As thunder is to a storm.
The season comes of its own,
And although we orchestrate
Blossoms better than thunder
And can increase warmth and storms,
These days on order aren’t ours.