Quietly, still buds affixed to branches.
Tightly closed, dormant, they appear.
No coaxing quickens, and
I'm still waiting for the blooms to appear.
Anxious anticipation of
freshness and fullness arises.
Hurry, I secretly yell,
Time's awasting away!
Weeks pass, hope wanes.
Until one morn, sun breaks forth
and blossoms burst open.
Spring scents linger and branches fill out.
The flowers appear on the earth,
The time of singing has come,
And the voice of the turtledove
Is heard in our land.
Song of Solomon 2:12 ESV
linked to Word Filled Wednesday at Internet Cafe Devotions and Imperfect Prose