With a burst of light and a shake,
I hurl into a gardening glove. 
Damp darkness devours me and soil envelops me.

With a thrust and a jolt,
I see the darkness below.
I escape and continue to flee towards the sky.

As a week and a day slip away,
light yellow flowers engulf my stem, now four feet tall.

As a day and a month cease,
red fruit threatens to split my stem.

With a tug and a rip,
I am attacked!
I am bare, the lone survivors: leaves and stem.

With a slice and a chop,
a mother prepares dinner,
while I remain outside as mother nature paints the trees.

With a yell and a reply,
a family gathers around the table crowded with food.

With a smile and a laugh,
sisters joke as they plunge forks into teeming plates.

With a disagreement and a compromise,
I watch the family’s love substantiate, but
as bitter wind overthrows a warm summer breeze, I grow frail.

With a burst of light, and a snip,
my feeble stem, now collapsed—  
rests in the damp darkness as the winter snow devours me.