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It creeps so quietly,
It’s warm breath breathing silently.
Hopefully we search for it on a desperately chilly day,
Failing to notice Winter’s gradual decay.
Then all of a sudden, a light dawns on our eyes,
We catch a glimpse of life that soundlessly lies.
How does a blade of green grass create such joy?
Why did we believe Winter’s never-ending ploy?
Why do we fail to notice things only once they are gone?
Yet we sit and soak in, the coziness of Spring’s dawn.
We failed to notice the Lion behind the back of such,
Waiting patiently for the right moment,
To gift His gentle touch.
Then like a flood,
Things come alive again,
Snow to mud.
At the Lion’s roar,
The sun remembers to smile,
The birds, again, soar.
The trees, bend, wave, and dance.
The breeze blows by, in a unbelieving trance.
Yet this warmth is different from Springs gone by,
None of us has an explanation why.
Each time is different, each Spring new,
Each flower’s bud blooming true.
The water shimmering from January’s ice
As Aslan brilliantly put it,
“Things never happen the same way twice.”