The Weald after winter

How lively is it all around!

A carpet even, freshly sprinkle.

And surging seas of white on

green pastures will fool my eyes.


And from a gentle rain

there comes a whispering sound.

Snowdrops along the edges tinkle,

I can really hear their tunes

while the winter slowly dies

and only memories remain.

Soon all sorrows will be gone,

flying like a bunch of light balloons


up, up and away.

Who does not fear, that they could stay.