Spring of the Past

Spring of the Past

Oh, how I do miss the days of spring

Petals reaching towards the sun

Life, depending on each stretch

Must fight the dark

Creeping up the roots

Threatening to invade my stem

Now the cold wind blows

Brushing against my delicate skin

Pieces of the past, lay scattered about

Perceived as mere relics from seasons passed

I watch as someone places them in her hand, closing her eyes,

she makes a wish

Perhaps she too is dreaming of warm breezes as well

Or a lover to hold under a starlight's gaze

But, maybe she's just thinking of that first taste of ice cream, the feel of it

as it melts on her tongue.