Deepened blues and copper golds
Awake in november’s death,
The only to survive
The coming winter’s torrent breath,
Rising up from the ashes
Of burnt bonfire wood,
Timeless in its beauty;
A sweet violet! There it stood,
And lighting up the darkness
Of a dying, wooded land,
There I spy the primrose
So delicate and grand,
And when our hearts grow tired
So we pray that spring is near,
The friendly little snowdrop;
Decides to appear!
Painting by Robert Laesig
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