The bitter wind stings our faces
like a lover stings our hearts.
We want to push away those feelings, but
like the cold, we cannot seem to warm ourselves.
We pray that the sun delivers us from
the grip of the rose and
lays us down upon a bed of petals.
The comfort of a soft love.
Too soon do the seasons change.
Spring to fall, and then finally winter.
Beautiful things die or go dormant, but
we know in our hearts that spring will come again.














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