But as the burgeons yield buds
As the buds yield blooms
Do you yield?
As the blooms yield to seeds
Do you yield to me?
It is in the seeds that immortality lies . . .
But what are the seeds without burgeon?
What are the burgeons without buds?
What is the Spring
And so I yield myself
In this moment
A moment forged so long ago
Not because I anticipate reward
But because it is right in this moment
I yield myself to the seasons
For no good reason at all
And as such I move beyond change