The Promise

I wonder if it hurts the trees
to have to let go of their leaves
to be laid bare by biting winds
to be made ugly by winter

Are they ashamed
of scarred and peeling bark
of gnarled branches
of the fact that the birds have abandoned them
for full, lush Southerners

I wonder if they fear
the wretchedness of winter
even as spring bestows life once again
and beauty its favor

I wonder if they wince in budding
not from the pain of new birth
but from dreading
the promise of winter winds