Bless the buds that have yet to open,
the bare branches turning red.
Bless the green noses of bulbs
as they push through the soil,
and the raucous starlings
in their tree conventions.
Bless the quince that blooms early--
no one wants its fruit. Bless
the days of rain and the days of fog,
the mud and the mess of it.
Bless the first dandelions, raising
brave, unwelcome, golden heads.
Bless this time when the world
is not yet beautiful, but you
can smell change in the air.
--Lynn Ungar
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