Outside my window the snow falls and falls.  A never ending sky of gray, never ending flakes of white.  Underneath the layers of winter lie hopeful shoots of green.  For want of spring. 

Outside my window the trees stand lifeless, leafless.  Waiting. No bud, no green, no leaves appear.  No sign of life or breath except the drip- drip of sweet water into pail. For want of spring. 

Outside my window the cranes call.  The goose, the wren, the finch. The wings in the air multiply.  Rising, falling, soaring. For want of spring. 

Inside my window, with gentle fingers, I push hardened seeds into pots.  Soil warmed by water and light, I will coddle and cajole until they open up, take root and grow.  For want of spring. 

But inside my heart a cold steady winter continues.  The ground of trust and hope and love remains frozen, forsaken. The dark outside world a hardened space. The horizon brings no joy.  For want of spring.

For want of spring.