the first bud of spring.
I would wait for next spring,
to pick the freshly budded rose;
to go on my knees and sing,
to the fairest maiden – propose.
Would you linger here through summer,
and watch me chase the aestival breeze;
as the earth falls into sweet slumber.
And the nervousness in me cease.
When it is the advent of fall,
with golden crisps surround.
I hope tis’ my name you’ll call;
and your hands in mine be found.
Though the wait is as long as winter.
The melody of hope does ring,
I will to you come hither.
and bring the first bud of spring.
march’11 – imm, the first bud of spring.