Much like the sun in early spring,
The balsamroot awakes the land
With rays of gold vivacity
That spread from field to timber stand.
Two lifeless trees, like sentinels,
Survey with ancient, hollow eyes
The grand explosion everywhere
As sunrise blossom multiplies.
These meadow guardsmen, tall and straight,
Have seen the seasons come and go…
How many springs and blossom times
Is something only they would know.
The yellow, smiling balsamroot
On meadowlands and rolling hills
Greet one and all with ecstasy
And mark the end of winter chills
