Living like flowers

Across the land lay fields of purest snow.

Restrained, the crocus must await the sun.

The winter land is bleak, cold even though

It glistens like a web a spider spun.

The beauty locked in constant restful sleep;

A promise made to man that each springtime

New life would come, and then the promise keep

Until the next cold winter reigns sublime.

Each year I watch the seasons come and leave;

And like the flowers bloom and then they die,

My heart will follow them, no warmth received.

Another empty year, no chance to fly.

To soar on wings of love a man desires.

No more or less does he ever require.