My dear friend, the Apricot Tree

Her seed was planted before mine, born bright

But grew slow; I marked the fence with each bend

While my mom, inch by inch, marked my own height;

Just one little limb I wished I could lend.

We endured the dead leaves fall in Autumn,

And Winter froze our roots with Worry’s wind,

The Groundhog sprung: Retreat to the bottom!

No shadows to find, seasons proved unkind.

Ah! I awake to drops of apricots—

No, I must have dreamt, but I could have sworn

I heard—from my bed I sprout—the sweet shots

Of plump pits seeding soil; trees soon to soar.

Was no dream: that Summer, fruit bore the tree,

Sating our sweet appetite—me and the bees.