Spring

In days of yore, when winter's chill did hold,
And snow-capped peaks obscured the sun's bright gold,
There lived an old man with eyes of wise,
Who longed to see the earth in springtime's guise.

His bones did ache with each passing frost,
Yet in his heart, a flame was never lost.
For he remembered tales of spring's sweet kiss,
When verdant fields bloomed in utter bliss.

With staff in hand, he journeyed forth each day,
To watch for signs of winter's slow decay.
He listened to the birdsong on the breeze,
And felt the warmth return with gentle ease.

The crocus dared to pierce the icy ground,
Its petals reaching for the light unbound.
The trees, once bare, now dressed in tender green,
And fragrant blossoms painted nature's scene.

The old man smiled, his heart with joy aglow,
For springtime's dance had banished winter's woe.
He watched as life returned with vibrant hue,
And knew that every end brings something new.

Though age had bent his frame and dimmed his sight,
His spirit soared on wings of pure delight.
For in the coming of spring, he found his cheer,
And knew that hope would always persevere.

So let this tale be told through endless time,
Of an old man and his springtime rhyme.
For in the heart of age, true youth resides,
When spring awakens and the world abides.