Poetry
1 min
Spring, My Healer
Nikita Vagal
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.
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.
We Love Sharing Stories
Select a story