The Mark of Cain upon my every

Detail as I gaze across

The plains, and in the pain beneath

The snow I know the spring


That was -but died again- is waiting

Still, until the winter loses will

To stay, and eases grip to let the

Little things come out and play.

The Mark of Cain, the Curse of Cold,

This winter's getting far too old,

And frozen things all long for heat;  

To feel that heart above them beat.

But see, the clouds are parting now,

The Heart of Sky is high, and how

Its beams, it seems, are rays of gold;

A force to melt, and even scold

That old, tenacious ghost of white

And chase it off into a night that has

Been dark as Death for months,

But now is light with Life for once.

The Mark of Cain I shed like skin,

I too have leaves that rest within.  

Spring, so faint a sigh, now calls:   

Heart of Sky, I feel thy pulse!