Winter's Hope

Last year I planted flower bulbs:
Three hundred daff'dills by the road.
With caring love and tenderness,
I put each in the cold moist earth.
With hope to spring I thought of each
And saw their gold within my mind.
With hope to spring I left each one
And prayed it'd grow to bless our home.

Through winter's bleak and dreary storms,
I clung to hope that each would grow,
And gazed upon the barren ground
To catch again that glimpse of gold,
But nothing grew and nothing changed
And hope grew thin as doubt moved in.
When nothing grew and nothing changed
And hope was nearly spent, they bloomed.

Last year I planted my dear son,
Among three hundred other sons.
With caring love and tenderness,
I laid him in the cold moist earth.
With hope in Christ I laid him down
And helped throw dirt upon the mound.
With hope in Christ I left that day
And prayed he'd live again some day.

Within my heart rage winter's storms:
A wish to hold him tight again,
A flood of tears at random times,
An emptiness when all is calm.
The pain goes on, each day the same,
And hope grows thin as doubt moves in.
When as the pain goes on the same
And hope is nearly spent, I pray.