As I breathe in a still twilight.
Trees silently wait for the kiss of life.
The cold fading sunset is serenaded by the Winged choir.
Sending the unwritten song.
`Tis then my soul gently awakens
And that distant perfume captures my senses
To faintly declare,
It's almost spring.
A church bell rings and Sunday morning answers
At leisure.
A steeple is lit by a sleepy sun.
As an open sky greets the congregation.
A breeze gone, carries the tune
That God lays upon their hearts.
As the fields wait in background patience
To release their colour.
And as I inhale newborn wonder,
I exhale Winter's cold whispers with joy.
And when the huddled daffodils smile
Iknow it's almost spring.