When winter's hand pressed cold upon my days,  
And sterile rooms became my world entire, 
The silent drip, the slow and heavy haze,  
Left hope a whisper, distant from desire.  

Yet spring crept in-a rumor, soft and bright,  
A hush before the robin's morning song.  
Bare branches trembled, then burst into light,  
As if the earth recalled where roots belong.  

I learned to read the daffodil's bold hue,  
The scent of rain on grass, the patient sun.  
Though chemo's chill and loss I daily knew,  
Spring's gentle green declared the thaw begun.  

Now, petals riot where old scars remain-  
And the season teaches hope again.