A Quiet Faith
In the depths of winter’s hollow breath,
When the earth lies still in a shroud of death,
And the trees stand bare against the night,
We forget the promise of returning light.
The sky hangs low, the colors fade,
And shadows stretch where warmth once played.
But beneath the frost, the roots still keep
A quiet faith in what must sleep.
For seasons turn, as seasons do,
And what has fallen will rise anew.
The frozen ground, the branches bare,
Are only resting—waiting there.
The day will break, the thaw will sing,
The soil will stir with the pulse of spring.
The buds will bloom, the rivers run,
And life will dance beneath the sun.
So hold this truth when nights grow long,
When silence steals the robin’s song.
The earth remembers, and so must we—
That light returns, unfailingly.
For even in shadows, hope takes breath.
Even in stillness, life cheats death.
And through the cold, the dark, the strife—
A quiet faith will call back life.
By Anton Amelung