| Spring Near a bench by a path in the woods I stopped to take in the scene. For in the middle of the barren trees there stood a patch of green. In the lush emerald grass yellow dandelions stood radiating brightness throughout the dull brown wood. The tantalizing voice of songbirds filled my ears. And from the trickling water of a stream the dying winter cried its tears. The nostalgia of the windsong and the rustling of the leaves. A sweet, mystical scent carried on the softest breeze. This ecumenical sign of hope made its omnipotent presence known. And only I experienced it as I stood in the woods alone. --Emerald Eyes |