New York Blooms

One week a year, New York blooms.
Between their scarecrow bareness and their lush green plenitude,
The trees give a brief riot of white, as if to say

We are not so sad amid the gray and the brick;
We are not so tame as you may think we are;
We are Nature in her glory, and our bounty is a kind of overcoming.
Be thankful, and do not flatter yourselves;
You may flourish, but we flourish also.

New York does not reply.
She has other calls to answer.
But she relaxes her shoulders a little,
And begins to forgive the winter.