Bloom

Beneath the moon's softly veiled embrace,

Where shadows whisper in the chill night's breath,

The stir of life awakens from winter's death,

A tender, creeping pulse begins its chase.

Through fields of slumber, frost's cold fingers lace,

Yet underneath, a murmur, soft as wraiths,

Hints at the spring's return, in ghostly faiths,

As nature's heartbeats quicken in their pace.

The barren trees, now touched with dreams of green,

Stand watch like sentinels in silent gloom,

Their branches poised to welcome unseen blooms,

A dance of life and death, unseen, serene.

And in this change, both strange and yet foreknown,

The earth reclaims its flesh, its breath, its bone