Spring

The frost has melted, the air feels new,

A hush of promise drifts softly through.

The world exhales - cautious, slow,

Unfolding petals where grief used to grow.

The rules have faded, the masks laid down,

And whispers of colour return to town.

I gather the pieces winter unmade,

And stitch new dreams where the shadows fade.

Pinks of promise, and blues that recall,

Cherry blossoms and forget-me-nots tall.

Each tiny bloom, a memory's thread,

Sewn for the living, not just the dead.

A butterfly breaks from its silken keep,

Its wings untested, its hope runs deep.

It flutters skyward, fearless, bright -

Carrying prayers into morning light.

No fanfare sounds, no banners rise,

Just gentle truth beneath wide skies.

Spring does not shout; it softly sings -

Of healing found in fragile things.