First the sound of trickling water
snow and ice melt into one.
Unbound freely joyfully skipping
gurgling free in wintry sun.
See majestic lake lie frozen.
A blanket of white across her back.
But hear small brook as it comes calling
Soon, big sister, those fetters I’ll crack.
Then birds join in the merry making
With songs so fragile light and sweet.
Fly hither, thither, soon the springtime
Though yet snow crushes under feet.
And patches of green from white emerging.
And in those patches young shoots grow.
Soon from those green shoots summer births
In crocus, snowdrop and brook below.
Erstavik 2004, copyright Lysanne Sizoo