Waiting For Spring

Winter, in all its cold damp airs, Its hard stiff frozen ground. Of short days and long nights, And those mushed wet leaves Trampled underfoot. How can anything survive in this Cold earth? But, waking slowly from their Death like rest, green fingers start Poking through the hard ground. Green fingers waking from a long Sleep slowly pointing skywards Where later drooping white petals Shyly open, as if apologising for The long delay from last February. They tentatively open in the rawness Of winter. Natures hope of a new world.