Blooming
My emerging trust in you is still tender
Green and flickering,
Shadows of longing in its depth
Just beginning, only now a fertile bud
Of hope
Precious, vulnerable,
Growing beneath the newly turned spring earth
Turning in the desired direction
Of the sunlight
It yearns toward the ray but is not yet strong
Trust is such a fragile thing,
A sprig of baby's breath
Unable to be handled by any touch
But the most delicate
Otherwise it will wither
And crumble beneath the hands
Of one who tries to grasp it.

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