The frozen morning stiffens the withering plants,
Change has frightened them almost to death.
I brought the begonias inside to clip
and store in the dark basement till spring.
I will forget them till one April Day
when change hits me again.
They will appear dead as I haul them
upstairs with chilled hands,
but within days, small green leaves
will peek from the soil, refreshed from sleep,
unconcerned with the back and forth of their lives.
I will water, feed, and pray
until yellow , red, white, and salmon blooms
once again float in glass bowl on my table.
Sometimes they come back another color,
a transformation clearly approved
by the Begonia God.