When the blooms emerge
from their frozen slumber,
and the sky cracks open
with rainstorms and thunder.
When the pansies perish
and the sunflowers rise,
and the sweet fragrance
of honeysuckle fill the skies.
When the trees drip shades
of crimson and gold,
and blanket the landscape
to prepare for the cold.
When the Earth is frozen in place
and the snow begins to fall,
while covering any trace
that it was ever inhabited at all.
My thoughts will drift to you,
for no rhyme or reason,
With each passing day
of every passing season.
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