The winter brings the cold.
It blows away the dead,
killing the new, leaving the old.
Nothing more to be said.

Where does the green go, 
or the flowers with the rosy smell?
We feel only the cold,
where creation must dwell.

Oh, how we wait for spring.
when again, new life will bud.
arising in the beauty it will bring,
as the seed grows in the mud.

What a miracle we await.
We know what the Sun can do.
Is it only fate,
or rebuilding life anew?

We need spring in our soul,
to blossom with power from above, 
making us pure and whole,
with Sunbeams of Love.

Then we will rejoice,
and blossom as the rose,
setting us free to worship,
as the Holy Wind Blows!

A Servant
Isaiah 35

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s