Cypress limbs –
fingers of nature’s hand,
long-lived and evergreen, like hope,
stretching alway upward,
for the advent of spring…
for all in winter’s fell clutch
of buffeting breath most rude and cold,
of wearying nights grieving light’s absence,
of despairing shadows, furthering ruthlessly, darkening souls and dimming spirits.
As hope – born in still-beating hearts’ invincible expectation –
is promise yet fulfilled,
so, as cypress, ever green, alway upward, my prayers ascend for spring.