You came to me like gentle breaths of spring
Reviving a dead soul from winter’s grip,
With all the pride and passion promise brings,
Fair sunshine smile, soft touch and honeyed lips;
My memories of frost yet all too clear,
Not knowing what to make of your sweet light,
To feel sap flow again wrested a tear
That I might shed the chains of frozen blight.
Hope is a flower, delicate and pure
That reaches forth from god forsaken earth,
Where with the power of beauty’s strength demure
From providence lost, does boast of bliss assured;
It is the timeless balm that that eases pain;
I look at you and all my woe does wane.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.
