Poetry

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I came out this morning
Into the cool damp,
And the wet, green buds
Were springing forth
From the still stiff fingertips
Of yet barren trees.
From the chill grasp
Of Winter's hoarding coil,
The happy, shining faces of the leaves
Were popping out,
And seemed glad to greet the Spring.
Now, nothing can withstand
The force of life's resurgence--
Now that death has lost its grip.
Not seasons past, nor icy blows of pain
Can diminish the rush of life,
Or the determination to meet
Every struggle that awaits.

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