My Voice

My Voice

My voice lays low, now for a little moment,
As like when in the winter frosty song;
There's coldness, frostbites with no relent,
Frost roses grow on my window all day long.

When earth lies still under cold and snow
And seed can not become a new flower,
For there is no brightness for it to grow
When darkness is more black each hour.

My voice lays low, like a bird sleeping silently,
When there is no greenness to fly on to;
Inside there, are still voices of sweet melody,
That will grow again in greenly pastoral new.

Like when that day comes with longings great
I will my wing spread again fresh to the air,
And my songs in my heart which now has to wait
Will be tunes once more when the summer's here.

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