I know of a ridge of maple trees
Long covered deep with snow.
Their branches stark against the breeze,
Their fallen leaves below.
But last September, did we not know?
Did we not speculate?
As the gold in the leaves began to grow,
We began to anticipate
That if we were patient, if we would wait,
If we could last ‘til spring,
Our maple trees would initiate
An even greater and more wondrous thing.
Now in April we see birds on the wing.
Now the snow is melting away.
The long-silent brooks are beginning to sing,
And we believe it might be any day.
The trees, we think, will not much longer delay.
We have heard that our maples begin to lift
The groundwater from deep in the clay.
Yesterday this water was a snow in a drift,
But now the trees endow that snow with a gift.
From out of the sky, radiant with blue,
And by using a unique tree kind of thrift,
The maples take the sun’s sweetness, let it accrue,
And in their deep roots, they make a sweet brew.
Then the next day (it seems too good to be true)
The maple trees share what they create!
They’ll give a bit of that sweetness to me and to you!
So this is the great wonder that we await.
Come, let’s go out to our maples. We dare not be late!
It seems incredible, but they say it is true –
The freshness of the snow, with tree-honey imbued.
To the sky, snow and trees, we warmly thank you.
And to the Maker of these, we humbly thank You.