That empty feeling, with no rhyme nor reason
Is it the time of year? The darkness of the season?
The rain forests are shrinking, the oceans are warming
The portents are everywhere, only few are mourning.
The world goes round, with feeble or shut eyes
Who will blow that dusty bugle to awaken and rise?
I’m old and I’m gray, hard to bend and plant seeds
New babies being born, whose to explain this greed?
With each new day rises the sun
Where hope is held, even by one
One seed sprouts, then two, then three
Soon a forest. where once there was only a tree
A great rejoinder Janice!
I agree
Loved your hopeful response Janice
Spring has always come…..