The Winter Longing

The Winter Longing -Trey Long

The garden is grown and barren, void of plenty and eld,

And my heart is passing heavy, all contentment withheld 

Thistles and lies, thorns and cries, assail the longing senses,

Instead of growing roses, I mend masquerading fences

Yet spring waits in longing, not by time or accustomed measure, 

But by necessary motion, and revitalizing  pleasure