I will bloom.

I will rise

I will blossom

I will bloom.

But for right now,

I will take root.

Pushing through the mud and soil,

Anointed with the sacred oil

Of winters melted snow and dew

I was buried,

and then

I grew.

Death is bitter

And it's sweet

To know that hibernation

Is not defeat.

There is a time to thrive

But often, first,

We must die.

I hit the ground

--cold, unrelenting tomb.

But, what I thought was a grave

Became for me,

A womb.

A place to be nourished,

To rest,

To be still.