The Birch blooms in winter;

some say it blooms

in Autumn with golden leaves

     but don’t be fooled.

It’s against the gray

backdrop of December,

January and February

that the birch earns

its own bright white.

Not the same shade

of fickle snow; — pretty

while it falls, preening

its delicate feature; —

     seduced by asphalt and mud.

Yes, the cheap snowflake

believes the gaping

mouth of earth;

     the thrust-out tongues

of children. (What’s

more flattering

than being wanted by

     a mouth that waters?)

And those silly  flakes

     self absorb;

while the birch,

holds its trunk straight

basking in whiteness

     among a million deaths.