Frost's Loving Chains

Rigid chains of Spring, built by winter’s dream:
Chilling Frost’s lingering touch, yet to melt
From shackles who restrain Spring’s raging steam;
Under Frost’s heavy, loving hand, Spring knelt

The Seed will be a field of peonies
The Tadpole becomes a frog, song unheard
Frost holds both close to preborn destinies
The Seed’s, the Tadpole’s, their song isn’t a bird

Spring, behind bars of ice, watches the Seed
Grow wings, then a beak, bursting into song
The Tadpole, chirping, joins, leaves Frost to bleed
Their ropes of hope pull the Sun, make her strong

Far above she goes, her glares melt Frost’s bars
Free, Spring takes her gift and soars to the stars