🌸 Whispers of Spring

WRITE BY ;GHANII

When Winter fades, so too its weight,

Its silence broken by a greener fate.

Gone are the shadows long and wide,

As Spring steps in with gentle stride.

From ice-laced fields to waking trees,

A soft enchantment rides the breeze.

The sun returns with golden grace,

And touches every sleeping place.

The meadow yawns, then stretches far,

Embracing dawn like a newborn star.

And through the dew, both thick and thin,

New life begins to bloom within.

A lark ascends, its wings outspread,

Above the trees, above the shed.

Its song a thread of morning light,

Weaving the blue of sky in flight.

Bees emerge from waxen walls,

Drawn to flowers in garden halls.

Each petal hums beneath their feet,

Their sacred dance of pollen sweet.

A fox steps soft through fields so wide,

Its coat no longer built to hide.

It lifts its snout and breathes it in—

The scent of clover on the wind.

The rivers melt and start to glide,

Breaking loose the frozen tide.

They whisper tales in silver streams,

Of thawing woods and birthing dreams.

In forest nooks and orchard lanes,

The world is free from winter's chains.

Rabbits thump, and sparrows play,

While squirrels chatter through the day.

A child in boots, cheeks flushed with glee,

Runs through the garden, wild and free.

She leaps through puddles, mud on skin,

And laughs as Spring comes rushing in.

Grandmother sits beneath the tree,

Crocheting shapes with calm and glee.

She watches roses start to rise,

And memories fill her faded eyes.

She sees her husband planting seeds,

In gardens full of sun and needs.

Though he has passed, the blooms remain—

A tribute to his hands and name.

A teenage boy walks through the glade,

With notebook, pen, and dreams unmade.

He stops and scribbles on a page:

“Spring turns my soul into a stage.”

The skies put on a soft parade,

Of clouds in pink and marmalade.

Birds like brushes stroke the air,

Their silhouettes both swift and rare.

The winds begin their poetry,

Composing songs in every tree.

Each leaf becomes a dancing tongue,

And every vine a verse begun.

In city parks and countryside,

Old fears dissolve, and hopes collide.

Lovers sit and lovers stray,

Their hearts reborn with longer day.

The elderly, the young, the shy,

All greet the bright cerulean sky.

It speaks no words, yet says so much,

In every breeze, in every touch.

A mother sings, her babe in arm,

Wrapped in quilts both soft and warm.

She hums a tune passed down with pride,

A song her mother once supplied.

A painter by a chapel door

Unfolds her easel on the floor.

With every stroke, a bloom appears—

She paints the faith of silent years.

The soil, the stone, the branch, the bird—

Each finds a voice, a sacred word.

Together in a chorus bright,

They bring the world from dark to light.

For Spring is more than season's turn—

It’s where the old forget to yearn.

It’s where the hurt begins to heal,

And what was numb begins to feel.

It’s not just bees or buds or breeze—

It’s love that grows beneath the trees.

It’s second chances, whispered low,

In places only hearts can know.

So let it rain, and let it shine,

Let roots go deep, let vines entwine.

Let children dance, and lovers cling—

To every hope the Spring can bring.

Let us be like the earth, now free—

Awake again, in bloom, in glee.

And when we feel our hearts may fall,

Let Spring remind: there’s life in all.