Winter Poem by Ansul Noor

It's too early,
even for the frozen dewdrops,
to have kissed the grass.

The quiet winter sun
is rising,
and with it my soul is
astir.

Why do questions swirl in tandem, when no answers can be found?

To this crazy life I offer; a beating heart still full of hope.

But it's too early,
even for the frozen dewdrops,
to have kissed the grass.

The winter sun is rising,
and with it my soul is astir.

A premonition perhaps of what's to come?