Hidden from the world for so long,
she unfurls her pale face from the sanctuary of darkness,
weeping with her head held low,
she knows she must say goodbye
to the the comforting arms of her winter tomb,
the uncertainty of what may lay ahead,
as she reaches forth for the pearly rays of a springtime morn,
the dew moistens her parched lips,
telling of the promise of the newness of life,
the warmth of a springtime day, dry's her tears,
all is new, all is fresh, all is within herself,
searching, reaching, grasping the hope of what may lay ahead,
now she presents all of her hidden beauty to those who would wish to see,
so it is at this time of the year, that we should gently caress her face,
lest she falls and retreats back into the darkness of her crimson night.