Reflect the sunshine in the brain.
For winter's not just cold and fear,
But quiet hope drawing near.
It teaches us to look within,
To let new life and light begin.
To find the fire that never dies,
Beneath the winter's greyest skies.
Where secret promises they keep.
They sleep, but not the sleep of death,
Awaiting spring's returning breath.
And in our hearts, a spark remains,
Through winter's long and darkening chains.
A memory of summer's hue,
A golden, everlasting true.
So let the frost upon the pane
Where secret promises they keep.
They sleep, but not the sleep of death,
Awaiting spring's returning breath.
And in our hearts, a spark remains,
Through winter's long and darkening chains.
A memory of summer's hue,
A golden, everlasting true.
So let the frost upon the pane
The ground is hard, a crust of snow,
Beneath a sky of sullen glow.
It seems a season stark and bare,
Of icy chill and little care.
Yet, in the hush of falling flake,
A different kind of warmth can wake.
Beneath the ground, the roots reach deep,
The ground is hard, a crust of snow,
Beneath a sky of sullen glow.
It seems a season stark and bare,
Of icy chill and little care.
Yet, in the hush of falling flake,
A different kind of warmth can wake.
Beneath the ground, the roots reach deep,
Winter's Quiet Hope
The winter wind blows sharp and cold,
A story that each year is told.
It bites the skin and numbs the face,
And paints the world in frozen grace.
The trees stand bare, their leaves all shed,
Like quiet thoughts inside our head.
Winter's Quiet Hope
The winter wind blows sharp and cold,
A story that each year is told.
It bites the skin and numbs the face,
And paints the world in frozen grace.
The trees stand bare, their leaves all shed,
Like quiet thoughts inside our head.