Spring's Gentle Hand

The winter's grip begins to cease,

A softer air brings gentle peace.

No biting winds that chill us through,

But breezes whispering, fresh and new.

As winter's grip begins to cease in Lahore, a palpable shift graces the air. The once sharp, cold winds soften to a gentle caress, carrying the faintest whispers of blossoms yet to unfurl. A subtle warmth kisses the skin, a welcome change from the biting chill that held the city in its embrace. The sun, gaining strength with each passing day, casts longer shadows and paints the muted winter hues with strokes of nascent vibrancy. Even the birdsong seems to carry a lighter, more hopeful melody, echoing the quiet promise of the season's gentle peace settling over the land.

The sun, a painter, bold and bright,

Awakens hues of pure delight.

Though clouds may drift in skies so wide,

They often part, with warmth inside.

A sprinkle falls, a tender tear,

To quench the earth and banish fear.

Then sunshine bursts, a golden gleam,

Reflecting in a budding dream.

The frost retreats, a memory faint,

As life unfurls, without restraint.

From frozen ground to branches high,

The weather whispers, "Spring is nigh!"

When Winter's Chill Begins to Fade

A Gentle Awakening

The winter's grip begins to cease,

A softer air brings gentle peace...