Blossoms burst on piles of rubble
Pushed aside building highways through suburbia
They catch the afternoon sun
A showy illumination of pink hits your eyes as you drive towards bleak horizon.

That's what it's like to meet her
It captivates immediately 
Exclaim The blossoms are out!
Sit in wonder as to whether 
Fruit might be produced
From the meddling of bees upon flower
What kind?

I still wonder
Was it too early, then, to produce anything?
In the life of our young tree
Did the bees delay?
Did the wind invade and blow soft petals away?
Or is the display merely decorative?
Beauty is a keeper.
Four years on, I should surely wonder.