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Awakening

Rating: 2.7
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,
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COMMENTS
Kumarmani Mahakul 04 March 2019
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.
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