The willows were weeping
A line of mourners
Along the edge of a newly frozen lake
Their leaves a faded gold
Hanging like lost hope over the fresh snow
A reminder that all glory
Is temporary, that the magic of seasons marks both the beginning and the ending of dreams
That hope nurtures hope
In layers of mystery
The miracle of creation set in motion
Unfinished in constant change
And yet somehow whole.
Rebirth begetting rebirth
Too great to comprehend
Yet in faith, in hearts, the truth believed.