Awakening Poem by Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
Awakening
Never yet was a springtime,
Late though lingered the snow,
That the sap stirred not at the whisper
Of the south wind, sweet and low;
Never yet was a springtime
When the buds forgot to blow.
Ever the wings of the summer
Are folded under the mold;
Life that has known no dying
Is Love's to have and to hold,
Till sudden, the burgeoning Easter!
The song! the green and the gold!
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4/19/2024 3:34:26 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Ever the wings of the summer are folded. Never yet was a springtime but still buds with sweetness are willing to bloom. A nice imagery this poem carries. This is excellently penned.