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

It was the trimmers
methodical, swift, oblivious
As the chipper ground,
I appreciated anew the words of Frost:
“Nothing gold can stay.”