They say the darkest hour is just before you wake,
and so with my front-garden tree:
just when I thought the fragile branches
had succumbed to the fiercest April showers
it blossomed so sweetly and suddenly,
reminding me, perhaps, that life truly goes on,
through seconds, minutes, and finite hours.
My response to Day 8 of NaPoWriMo 2016: write about a flower