The Garden That Waited for Spring

Beneath the frost, the roots still dream,

Of gentle rain and silver stream,

They whisper low through frozen ground,

Of days when blossoms will be found.

The trees stand bare, yet not in fear,

For they have seen the turning year,

They know the weight of winter’s breath,

Is just a pause — and not a death.

The wind may bite, the skies turn gray,

But seeds remember light in clay,

And though the night feels long and cold,

A brighter dawn is yet to hold.

So let the snow fall where it must,

The earth is patient, built for trust,

For spring will come — and when it’s near,

The world will bloom, as if to cheer.

Thanks for reading. 💜 💜 💜