From this ploughed field the young sweet corn shall spring,
These frozen clods yield to the tender seed,
And pulsing Earth with all her myriad gifts
From winter’s paralyzing grip be freed.


This rotting mold shall bring forth loveliness,
These leafless branches bloom in bridal white,
And where the moon now gleams on frost and snow
The briar rose shall scent the summer night.


Then down these somber walks where you have kept
Your aching trysts with bitterness and pain
New joys shall spring and all old sorrows yield
Before the healing tide of time again.

~Author unknown


Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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 )

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s