THIRTY THOUGHTS    <return to contents

Awakening
Winter appears like death to the flowers,
The grass, the shrubs, the leafy bowers;
Across the sky snow-clouds hang low
And north winds shriek where-e’er they go
       And my heart is winter.

Spring commences the birth of the flowers
Fantastic, brilliant, peeping from bowers;
The sun is warm with a softening flow
Where trees wave blooms--new life, I trow.
       Can my heart be spring?