WAITING.
D0 the little brown twigs complain
That they haven't a leaf to wear?
Or the grass, when the wind and rain
Pulls at her matted hair?
Do the little brooks struggle and moan
When the ice has frozen their feet?
Or the moss turn gray as a stone
Because of the cold and sleet?
Do the buds that the leaves left bare
To strive with their wintery fate,
In a moment of deep despair,
Destroy what they cannot create?
Oh, nature is teaching us there
To patiently wait, and wait.