The change is not coming quickly,
The snow is still on the ground,
The trees and birds look sickly.
My soul, to winter, is bound.
I long for the sweet smell of flowers,
the wind blowing in my face,
And the trees shining like green towers.
The sun giving a warm embrace.
But yet the snow is still around,
Cold and wet sinking in my bones,
And the wind is the only sound.
I can feel the world moan.
When well this end?
In this horrible place,
I know spring will mend
The depression with love and grace.
Spring will come soon,
To see this weary winter depart.
To heal this wound
In my heavy laden heart!