Since over here Spring is taking its sweet time arriving, here's a poem with that very theme:
The ice in sharpened stakes has grown,
Since Spring is lost on its way home.
Though the white sprouts beauty too,
Trees still cry for birds that flew...
...so far away, so long ago,
So scared the grasp of white will grow.
Perhaps we'll just never return
To untouched Spring, when meadows burn,
And instead of pollen breeze,
The wind the meadows now will freeze.
But finally an answer rises:
That in the end, the ice suffices.
The snowy scythe of Winter can be sought,
And even though some people the cold loathe,
We might just have to bathe in glacial lakes,
To see the beauty the ambitious Winter makes.
So, after we embrace motionless cold,
And run around in stormy weather,
We could end up proclaiming loud and bold,
That we don't need another season altogether!
