-This poem reflects on the unseen beginnings of spring, where roots and seeds quietly gather strength beneath the soil before any visible bloom appears.
Beneath the cold, unbroken ground,
the buried hours begin to stir,
roots hold their silence in the dark,
yet press with patience toward the rain.
No eye can see the tender work,
the swelling seed, the quiet split,
the pale first reach of something small,
that trusts the earth enough to rise.
Above, the fields seem hushed and bare,
the air still carries winter’s shape,
but under frost and weight of clay,
a thousand green intentions wait.
What sleeps is not always still,
what disappears is not always gone,
there is a life that gathers strength,
in places hidden from the sun.