Waiting for the Spring

The ground is frozen over,

my breath lingers in the air.

Frost is nipping at my fingers,

snow sticking to my hair.

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The river which in spring

flowed with bountiful vitality,

now is frozen over,

waiting for the thaw.

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The air seems strangely quiet.

Like time is standing still.

In a land immortalized,

by frost, by snow and by cold.

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I cannot hear the wind, or the birds in the trees.

Standing in the woods,

alone,

it’s just me.

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The trees all are stoic.

Keeping their lasting peace.

Patiently they hibernate,

waiting for the spring.

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My mind feels finally peaceful.

My heart beats a sluggish pace.

The silence has a conscience

that lulls me fast to sleep.

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In a land immortalized

by frost of gentle shade.

The rising sun will find me

as beneath the trees I lay.