There is one day in every year, That all living craves and yearns, When hope breaks the shackles of frost, And life into Her would return. Her lids heavy with sleep that day, She turned drowsily on her back, She felt gentle rays touch her cheek, Though the skies above were still black. Wiping golden curls from Her eyes, She watched the horizon at length, Where vibrant light wedged between clouds, Splitting the heavens from the land. “It is time!” She sighed reaching out, And touched the bud that was the First, Shivering with cold it then obeyed: Wee white petals shimmered on turf. She smiled at the delicate bloom, And stroked its neighbours as well, Violet and yellow joined white, As if She cast a magic spell. She rose and danced around barefoot, Her delight filled hill and dale, A choir joined to whistle the tune, Chasing away the gray-white veil. She smiled into the nippy wind: It carried a sweet flowery scent, The sunlight dying the clouds pink, Winter was sung a joyful