She fell in love when winter passed
and breezes carried seranades
through mossy willow canopies
o'er sparkling brooks where maidens wade.
The meadow blushed with buds of pink,
the sun was warm, the shadows cast
beneath his gaze enticed her heart.
She fell in love when winter passed.
It wasn't spring that kissed her cheek,
it wasn't Aprils sweet return;
her breath was quick, she didn't seek
to find his hand, she didn't yearn
for wonder yet it came like rain
and filled each whisper to the last.
Her spirit was no longer cold;
she fell in love when winter passed.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Beautiful and tender
Winter can be a metaphor, and Spring always brings joy and renewal.
You carry the feeling with pastoral imagery and delicate rhyming. I enjoyed reading this very much, the repeated line is lovely. Best wishes to you! 
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Dear Mary,
The medieval minstrel sings
of histories and fables old,
I love a tale of love that springs
unbidden, from a heart that's cold.
So, like a bird which spreads its wings,
his narrative and song takes flight
and courtly ardour, fancied things
born of the flickering candlelight:
bold knights and damsels decked with gold,
awaiting rescue from sore plight,
are woken as his myths unfold
and rise up in the gathering night.
Your poem, of love which came with Spring,
is of such stuff that minstrels sing.
I love it, my Sonnet Queen, every one of its sixteen alternate rhyming lines! Please come back and write more!
Applause, love and hugs, XXX Hugh.
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