Like fans of green-on-yellow filigree,
the fronds unfurl among the shaded vines.
They ply their color light as silk and free
as air upon the denser ivy lines.
Like grapes, except the clusters rest on top
of deeper sturdy green, the new leaves glow
with golden infancy and host a crop
of flowering, for now the oak trees grow.

As lilting green unfurling like a fern,
that blooming is the center of my mind.
As shining as the oak leaf, so I learn
to wrest more light and leave dark tones behind.
And I am new awake, alert and bold:
past middle life and shot with infant gold.