Harsh winters make me desolate,
Yearning for the sun rays that illuminate..
Months go by as I ruminate,
Wishing for winds that would help me proliferate..
Gently the zephyr nudges me from slumber,
Bird chirps making me less sombre..
Waiting to bloom,
I want to cast away all the gloom..
Waiting to bloom,
I want to blanket the sky with my plume.
The Lucid Monk 