Strolling along the edge of a frozen lake,
Brittle grass crunching underfoot;
I dream about the future we might make.

I lazily watch the fog of the past;
It swirls about the surface
But will be lifted at last.

This barren wasteland holds hope:
Its decay and gloom promise life,
Its frozen madness points to a rising slope.

There is a certain song in this place,
A song that rises from the depths
And pierces through the space.

I kneel to touch the earth;
Its barrenness is no surprise,
But it holds a vow of new birth.

I peer across the water’s shining glow,
Renewed in my steadfast hope
And ready to continue to grow.

01/26/2008

Posted on 10/31/2009
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