No one scolded the little plum tree
For not having tried hard enough
Last spring.
No one reminded her
This morning
That the world is teeming with injustices.
No one warned her
That tomorrow
The rain would pummel her flowers
And cast them to the ground.
And so this evening
She is not holding back
Even a solitary petal.
She is offering forth every bloom
As though there were
No yesterday
Or next day
And as if this entire world’s very existence
Depended upon her fragile and fleeting
Coming into blossom.