As the Spring wakes the Winter

The day has fallen, and the night sits in its usual place. Oh, how still the air. Oh, how content is the moon. The snow shines and smiles to its celestial cousins, the stars. To be the wind, who walks througout, silent. To be the sun, who wakes the stillness, and warms the cold. To be the road, who eases the way, and does not complain of its sacrifice. To be the Spring who has her Summer to make her brighter, stronger. Living one for the other. As the Summer wakes the Spring, the Spring wakes the winter. Does the Spring love the Winter? no. He waits for her, unwaivering, true, quiet. Then she returns, full of glory, waking him from his cold tranquility. He shines and welcomes the Spring. He lets go of his beautiful, snowy coat to please her. He puts on as much warmth as he has within him to show his devotion. But Spring does not know. She belongs still to the Summer. She sees and thinks only of him. Is it any wonder that in his supreme loneliness he howls? Any true marvel that he bites and snaps? As the Spring wakes the Winter, and captivates him, so does she destroy him. He does not see his own beauty, because she lives ever to melt. She lives ever to look to the Summer, and not to the past. Autumn is jealous, and lives for no one. She does her best to destroy the Summer, wanting him to love no one but her. Still she is powerless to destroy his vibrancy. Still she has ever been powerless to win his love. And still, the winter is alone.