A poem, rough draft.

When will it come, the waiting said,
Wishing it were spring once again.
Lady Gray drizzles down her frozen drops,
While her children play in the snow.

When will it come, the waiting said,
Yearning for full-blooming June.
Immature seedlings meanander about,
While May lives her day for a moon.

When will it come, the waiting said,
Burning and scorching for fall.
Cool wind and night air skit just out of reach
As sweetheart suns warm on the beach.

When will it come, the waiting said,
Life lives while the waiting wait on,
Wasting and wanting what lacked from the start
Rest in the season, peace in the heart.