Our doors were frozen over - we were blocked in.
The winds outside howled as if retribution for some grave sin.
Through days and nights the snow grew,
Always somewhere in alteration between a polar tundra or slough.
The pale white was never less than three meters deep,
And through the cracks in our walls the cold winds would seep.
The raging Winter went on for many nights:
Ostensibly never-ending, but then we saw a light
Outline our shutters. It was a shade of white and yellow
That melted away the dull, cold grey of the snow.
We all clamored to the window to gaze upon our discovery,
Pulling close to the icy glass to see what we could see.
About ten meters from the front-facing wall of our battered house
Was a spot of green grass that refused to espouse
The totalitarian grate that the Winter loudly proclaimed,
And its own spot in the wasteland of frost it claimed.
From this patch of green we watched as, slowly, a bud appeared.
It lifted itself out of the earth: through the freezing cold it seared.
In an explosion of florid brilliance, it opened its little bud
To show its magnificent Rose - the lifeblood
Of this barren land. As we watched, we forgot the winter's billowing
And thought of the coming sun and Spring.
We remembered that grey clouds will always make amends
With blue sky, and that Winter always ends.