Mere twigs

I am in a waiting frame of mind.  Sometimes it feels more hopeful than others.  

Years ago my sister Jane took a five year old child to a play of How the Grinch Stole Christmas.  It was one of his favorite books.  The Grinch was very, well, Grinchly.  Pretty soon her small friend began whimpering, so they went out to the lobby.  But Michael, she said, you know how it ends.  

In a small voice he said: It might be different this time.

Even though I know the way the whole Story ends, it is hard for me to remember sometimes.  Sometimes things appear more hopeful than others.  That*s why I need other people to wait with.

The elderberry bush

Is mere twigs In the garden bed.

It joins the leafless trees and bushes.

I know they will return to leaf

In the spring.

They always do.

The elderberry bush

Has only a hope

of return.

I would like to check its roots

For life.

I clip the clematis vine

Back to the ground.

I have seen it return fuller

Every spring.

I throw out the collapsed pumpkins

From the pots in front.

The squirrels have thoroughly mined them

For seeds.

Perhaps there will be a pumpkin vine

When the weather comes warm again.

New this year,

The elderberry bush

Is a complete unknown.

Sticks in the garden bed.

Mere twigs.

I know there is hope underground.

It will not show itself alive,

Potentially come on the scene,

Until spring.