little poem

because in winter, winds will blow
spring's rain and autumn's leaves will fall
and summer's gales will often show
what's gone will not have stood the squall
but back before the numbered days
and long before original sin
some god made true, what's washed away
will often soon be born again
so though this winter's spent alone
i know the patterns of the year
my words, i hope, fate will condone
and springtime might be drawing near