The Rite of Spring
Winter drew its bitter sword
With its icy glint,
For Marching in came Springtime
To claim its rightful stint.
Winter whipped out with the wind
But Spring hummed out warm rays,
And as the two collided
Came the promise of calm days.
For Winter's strength was fading
Whilst Spring's was proving rife.
Winter's last Death was its own,
To the power of New Life.
All poetry on this page is © Jonathan Fitzgerald and is the sole property of its owner.
It may not be used or reproduced without the author's expressed, written and signed permission.
All images are either personally designed or thought to be freeware.
Email: Jonathan@poeticjustice.co.uk
