It comes like the first snow:
Quiet, soft, and lovely
As if its descent isn't detected
Until white frost already covers the ground.

It comes like a hurricane:
Rough, agonizing, and raging,
Only to be broken by the eye
But then destroying any remains in its path.

It comes like dusk and dawn:
Short-lived, luminescent, and dancing.
It's when the Earth comes to life
And love springs from its breath.

It dies like the tide:
Its lulling recesion guided
Only by the light
Of the moon.