Shades of winter blues
silhouette the barren trees
against empty skies;
not even the birds want to fly.
Heavy clouds hang over
even the smallest of hearts,
ready and eager for Spring.
But wait, something is happening...
Bees have returned and tiptoe
across the blossoms,
daffodils rise from slumber;
earth's colors slowly revive.
With each bit of sunlight
that peeks through a retreating fog,
Spring clears her throat
and gets ready to sing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem