The first buds
It’s been rather cold and dreary; The very sun seemed weak and weary.
The trees are bare, The skies are grey. In the cold wind The branches sway.
But deep within The call of Spring Is made…and heard.. By every living thing.
Today the sun shone; The sky was blue… I looked up…and I saw The new buds, too.
It’s when warmth seems furthest away That little buds begin to form: I must seek the buds of hope when it’s cold.. I need not wait until it’s warm.
The promise of the warmth to come Is held within the bud…about to blossom.