For Charles Randall Stanfield
The tall deciduous trees have not put out
Their dew-struck, springy leaves. Perhaps it’s wise
Of these large limbs. Perhaps they have a doubt
Since winter keeps returning. Let hopes rise
Inside their tempered bark once April gives
A finer air with festive, flagrant hints
Of malus on its zircon breeze that lives
Beyond sly February’s vagrant tints.
No, not till then should oaks broach sturdy green.
Avoid the vileness of March winds! Avoid
Its snaps and frosts! Let April in serene
Perspective reign like kings when overjoyed.
..New then imperial, larger trees may blaze
….Their leaf buds-—to whatever Gods they raise.