Winter succumbs to summer’s hand
they meet in the spring.
they meet in the sparkle of a melting icicle. awww.
where the harshness of winter meets the distant fire.
Winter and summer are in love. But only in spring and fall do they get to hold hands and look deep into each other’s eyes. In the blazing heat of summer, they are lonely. And too in the harshest days of winter. This is why we freeze and sweat. Heat stroke. Frostbite. Misery loves to make her company understand. But in the spring, they kiss and birds begin to sing, and in the fall the tree leaves blush to see such unabashed love.
In April it rains a ton--they cry to see each other go
but in my wet clothes whining I cannot forget
their misery helps the flowers grow.
These are mostly just cast offs from my poem a few posts back about spring. I am slowly collecting reams of rejected lines. This seems like a good thing. I used to never ever edit. It felt like cutting off pieces of my body. Speaking of, I have to venture out into this nasty rainy day to get a hair cut. Consider this post the locks of my hair placed in an envelope and sent to your door.
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