The Impatience of Winter

A bleak winter day has come to me
with one rose alive in it's hand.
I am asked when spring will set it free,
when the leaves will return to the tree,
and more roses will bloom in the land.

I say to be patient with the sun;
it has done the same for many years.
The cold, I promise, will soon be done;
flowers will bud, many more than one.
Do not let this snow burden your  tears.

A bleak winter day nods 'cause it knows
I am the last to fashion a lie.
Deep in the frozen dirt it's hope grows
for a partner to pair with it's rose;
waits for the sun to burst through the sky.