I trimmed the tender tops,
Wanting branches on the sides to grow,
Reach out until they form a hedge,
Touch the green that reaches out to them.
Next summer, some will finally embrace.
It does not happen overnight,
Not like corn growing so fast in July
You can almost hear it grow on a quiet night.
Boxwood know their place,
Stay green and hopeful through winter snow,
Define the path and separate weeds
That always grow out in encroaching lawn.
Boxwood grows as slow as healing heart,
Transforms the path into deeper beauty,
Gives subtle fragrance to emerging truth,
Still visible within spaces that never close.