Suddenly, it struck
crisp as that winter day:
“Look!” I said. “A heart – right there.”

We watched buds in spring
turn deep green from gold
the heart then secret,
whispering beneath
rich hues that fell away

Only cold laid bare its beauty
created by lightning;
silenced by irony

Then the trimmers came
methodical, swift, oblivious
And as the chipper ground,
I knew again what Frost meant:
“Nothing gold can stay.”