The wood is dark.
The lark
Does not sing.
Will spring
Come once more
And restore
The sleeping rose?
Who knows
But one can grope
For hope
In the frozen ground
And pray for a change profound.
Will Spring Come Again?
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The wood is dark.
The lark
Does not sing.
Will spring
Come once more
And restore
The sleeping rose?
Who knows
But one can grope
For hope
In the frozen ground
And pray for a change profound.