The Beetle and the Bloom

This is for Mikeydred's April prompt.

You don't need to do a lot to start something new.

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A beetle pranced on a crocus flower with glee

Not aware of Spring's desire to wake.

His thought, "I spread it, look at me!"

While the cold rains undid the gold dust he'd made.

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He sulked below a leaf, his heart ached---

Until the bloom, renewed, began its song.

"You need not rush the world along---

Your hands, though small, usher the spring

They start the Dance of Everything."

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This poem is entirely original. AI tags are coincidental.