The Forgotten Spring In whispers low, the springtime wakes,
With winds that play and gentle shakes.
But wistful thoughts of what we lost,
In tempests fierce, where hearts were tossed.
The blooms once bright, now shadows pale,
In every corner, echoes wail.
Yet through the dark, the hope remains,
For life shall blossom, despite the pains.
Let us renew this garden’s soul,
With love and trust, together whole.
For each forgotten spring brings forth
The promise of flowers that give us worth.

• F T Palgrave