The Cold Within

The cold was there in the beginning
To chill the lively thrust,
Blowing it’s white breath
Turning the young and green to marble.
Beneath, the tiny knot still formed,
Pressing back the clammy edge,
Gambling for life, eager to win.
The stream that fed turned slowly crystal,
Though some there were who tried
To stop the slow advance,
No warmth reached far enough
To thaw away the cold.

It is so beautiful this morning;
Everything is cold and still.
The trees, covered with hoar frost,
Are silhouetted on the snow.
Far below the frost line lies the cold;
Remember, it was there in the beginning.

Can a hand reach out
And brush the frost away?
Can a word melt the stream?
Can anything – anything at all,
call forth spring?