Spring in Bamboo Grove

No fanfare marks the tender thrust of green,
it simply rises, certain of the sky.
What need has growth for trumpets or acclaim
when earth itself leans forward to applaud?

Each stalk ascends with quiet discipline,
unfurling truth where silence once had pooled.
No haste, no pause, just presence in becoming,
a lesson spoken through the softened air.

Observe: no leaf debates its time to bud,
no root delays in fear of falling storms.
All things unfold by a lawless, deeper law,
beyond the grasp of measure, name, or need.

The grove expands, not seeking space, but being,
a breath drawn and released in still delight.
Where humans carve, compare, divide, regret,
the bamboo holds its moment, fully lived.

Strength within this green cathedral’s hush.
Let saplings teach what sages sometimes miss:
to grow is not to reach, but to allow;
to touch the light and never clutch its hand.

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