Winter does not win.
Beneath frost, the seed still dreams
of a green return.
Hope is the breath before spring,
the hush that believes in bloom.

Soft light stirs the soil,
roots whisper beneath the cold.
Patience holds the day.
Soon the quiet earth will wake—
and colour will find the air.

By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

Winter may linger, but hope quietly endures. Beneath frost and silence, life prepares to rise again, waiting patiently for the first breath of spring.

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