Waiting

The Laird is yet but barely born,
The Lady hunts alone.
the world is cold and ill to bear
lies hard like broken stone
whilst Saturn cloud, hides golden gleam
and watery casts an eye,
upon the deeds of man, and beast,
and leaden lines the sky..
No bud no leaf no flowering bough,
but wind through branches bare,
and hidden, lies The Ladies way,
unseen and unaware.
Yet here in all, not all dismay
for naked branch and windswept heath
yet holds the life within,
the creeping root beneath the earth,
yet momentary,
breath by breath,
draws strength.
In all the waiting time is come
but awaiting, not for long.
Beneath all dreary outward sight,
the flame is burning strong.