the maple turned his tired head
for months the snow had been his bed
and now sharp pains were in his knees
not long before he'd grow his leaves
he bent down in the wind and rain
to see a farmer cause his pain
"Why are you tapping me awake?"

"My daughter likes a sweet pancake."

the dormant field begins to rise
buds unfurl and stretch to skies
grasses green and dew collects
the purple lilac resurrects
substantially the dark clouds weep
as farmer plows the furrows deep
"Why've you made me bear this scorn?"

"My family wants to eat sweet corn."

the drowsy lake awoke at dawn
to mallard's voice and moose's yawn
the sun blows off some morning steam
as moon fades into daytime's dream
but then her surface is disturbed
the lake the farmer has perturbed
"Your boat be gone is what I wish!"

"Pardon me, my son likes fish."

as creatures slept in rock and ground
the hibernating forest found
a solitary human soul
stopping on a winter stroll
to gaze upon the flurries' dance
in a conscientious stance
worried for the farmer's sake
the forest whispers, "What's your take?"

"I wish to ponder, take it slow,
and yet I still have miles to go."