The Ladybug in My Home

In my home, by the bright-lit pane,

a ladybug hid one Friday late.

Winter whispers with its breath so cold,

but she dreams of dawns so warm and gold.

Beneath my roof, in a quiet room,

sleeps the crimson-dotted bloom.

She waits for spring to spread its wings,

to flutter freely through the fields.

She speaks to me with eyes so bright:

“Protect me a little, I’ll brave the night.

When the first bloom scents the air so sweet,

I’ll soar into the sun’s retreat.”

And I reply, “You’re safe right here,

my hands will guard you, soft and dear.

When March appears and the sun shines true,

I’ll set you free, fair dreamer, you.”