Hope lies buried within us all,
like the crocus beneath the surface,
hibernating, biding its time,
waiting for seasons to pass.
No one expects such delicate beauty
to muster the strength for emergence,
and punch through the hardened soil,
yet we await its arrival each spring,
as winter yields to the thaw.
The budding comes when needed most,
after trials that beat us down.
We persevere, and emerge toward the light,
our hearts blooming once more,
resilient petals unfurling,
embracing the warmth of a new dawn.
Whispers in the Wind
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