Spring

This is an old poem I found about springtime, life, death, and relief.

As the eyes of the Sun look down on me,

I will run barefoot over clovers,

Through wildflowers, and under shade trees.

I will be as free as a bird, as lovely as a daisy,

And as hopeless as a forgotten dream.



As the Eyes of the Son look down on me,

I will be happy.

Enraptured in hope, and surrounded by love.

Drowned by God's eternal light.