There is a time when winter comes in spring,
though trees are brimmed with budding up and down,
and winds are soft and sweet – the birds still sing,
but something’s missing – yet it is unknown
to me just why this melancholy spell
has seized upon my heart, I cannot tell
myself or God or any other one
how new life blossoms, and yet I feel undone.
© Anne Bryant-Hamon
March 17, 2010
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