Before Spring

Footsteps mark a winding path

Through a forest grey,

Creeping to and fro beneath 

Skies of winter day.


Soon, the travelers hope, ‘ere long,

Sun will show his face,

And somber clouds, so grey and wan,

Will swiftly float away.


Amid the forest dim and dark,

Such hopes could seem amiss;

But never yet has Time been marked

Without fair Springtime’s kiss.

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