Written just before the first anniversary of my husbands death.


Seasons

Outside the window, trees are bare,
The grass is brown, no flowers are blooming.

Inside, I feel the same way,
Dead, unfruitful, waiting for spring.
Will it ever come?

How could you die on a
beautiful spring morning so full of life,
And be buried on the first of May,
a day of celebration of spring itself?

My heart has been dormant since that day,
Waiting for spring to come back into my life.

When the trees put on new leaves,
and the grass turns green again;
When the azaleas that you planted bloom again,
And the birds move back into the eaves;

Will there be new life in my heart,
Or will I go through more seasons of winter;
No matter what the temperature outside?




Words by Marlene
Read 534 times
Written on 2006-08-14 at 20:03

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