Does the sleeping flower dream of life
Beneath the winter’s snow?
Does it recall the rolling green
Of summers long ago?
Can it feel the gentle rush
Of a warm, caressing wind?
Or is its mind engaged upon
The ice ‘neath which it’s pinned?
Can love look to the road ahead
And predict the budding hour,
When spring at last will come again
To quiet, expectant flowers?
Or is it caught by unawares
Does winter end in haste?
That flowers bloom in chorus whole
To right forgotten pace?
Can love be bridled to be tame
With stirrups, reign, and bit?
Or is it free, like the lark
To choose its path for it?
Sleeping flowers dream of life
Beneath the setting sun,
But they’ve no cause for merriment,
Spring will come as it’s always done.
And so love, too will follow suit
The trend it always will,
The spark of life must first be struck
And it will sleep until.