Would you love me still, if all my leaves have fallen away?
If my green splendor was removed and you saw me only with bare bones.
What would you say to me then?
I shiver in the fear of your voice, telling me an answer I hope never to hear.
That my barriers have been stripped away and what is left of me is only sticks.
And in a snap you could end me.
But your answer is soft. It touches me like the sun on the bare limbs of a tree in winter.
It warms and it encourages.
“You are the spring.” You whisper, and in response my heart blossoms.