Whispers of Spring

lying on a bier of white
a cold shroud about me tight
the rime that rests upon my face
like a veil of silver lace
dripping melts like tears fall
at the gold sun’s blinding call
where once was starkness only
now green grass waves like the sea
tiny jewels on citrine strands
blossom beneath my hands
as to me the wind brings
the first faint whispers of spring