The weary boughs of winter rest,
wrapped in slumber, tight and pressed.
Silent roots in frozen deep,
hold the promise spring will keep.

Then morning hums—a soft embrace,
a golden touch, a thawing trace.
The bud awakes in tender light,
blushes pink and takes its flight.

One by one, the blossoms rise,
a whispered dance beneath the skies.
Petals twirl in breezes sweet,
spilling beauty at our feet.

For just a breath, they bloom and gleam,
a fleeting kiss, a fleeting dream.
Then winds will call, and they will go,
drifting slow in twilight’s glow.