The Morning Does Not Despise

The cold morning does not despise the burning ember
As hikers linger, still long asleep, within its shade
Nor does it look askance as the aspens tremble
Or roll its eyes at the laboring magpie
"Get up, get up," it softly cries, 
As the black crow rises
And the fog surmises its demise, with perfect peace

But the real trick is that 
The forest does not despise the spring fire which burns it to its base,
Every branch scored and scorned and stripped of mirth 
The birch and fir will fly, but first must go to earth
With that faith that fire, surely, will give new birth
And the morning, once again, gather all her children in