The clocks have begrudgingly
shifted again, the early
morning lost in darkness
barely illuminated by a waning moon.
The fronds of the Royal Palm’s
whisper “we are here, wait
for us.” But they are mere shadows
begging for dawn’s arrival.
Finally the sun engulfs the stars
watching over the horizon,
the fronds say “look at me,
I will give you an infinite
palette of green that will shift
as the day progresses,
so watch me now for the season
will soon enough be here
and its storms could spell our doom.”