Even with the departure of a defeated winter.
Spring's backstage feeling very conceited.
Bare branches still bend in their naked contortion.
With blatant desire for lush summer leaves fortune.
The trees whispered their longing
telepathically to the breeze.
The stream was a mysterious gold, green & brown.
Translucent was the elder boulder ground.
The drapes of hemlock need no announcing sound.
Below rock bottom, is a hardly reached equation.
A survival where peace is the eternal sum.
The secret stream will restore your inner gleam.