It seems like just yesterday,
Yet feels like eternity.
Even the frozen landscape
Will mar its own beauty
When static too long.
Yet still we weep
At the first patch of spring,
And mourn still until that patch blooms,
Evoking love for it
And its partners.
And throughout its long life
We do rejoice,
But to be aroused to further glee
By its colorful death.
Then the always welcome winter
Lays in on the land,
The opposite of scarce-mourned summer.
Change is the only constant;
And maybe this time,
You are the frozen one,
To spring forth from the thaw unwelcome,
But to be gradually accepted and loved,
Before dismissed in death.
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