more than these

It is early February, but you wouldn't know it.
Four straight weeks of April weather and nobody knows what to do,
least of all the rhododendrons.
What is it like, opening a bloom and knowing
four weeks from now its pistil will be frozen to a broken petal?
Do you do it just because you can?
In February it is joy and beauty, early and lovely
but with a bright sadness;
March will surely kill it.
Why don't you leave it alone today?
Tuck it tightly in the bud,
safe and sheltered until true April sunbreaks tease each blossom
from the wrap, in good time.
That's not your way.
Your ways are not our ways.
Is there love in the coming freeze? Surely you love us more than these.