Another lonely Spring with a bountiful garden.
The scenery is beautiful, but my frosted and despair heart remains in winter.

I lie in the meadows of spring with flowers that kiss my cheeks and caress my face.
All by myself....
I've always played with flowers by myself.
I wanted to share it with you, but you found someone else.
Were my flowers not as pretty?
Not as free?
Not as colorful?
Not enough...variety?

The colors twinkled your eyes,
Beamed you cheeks to a soft pink tint,
Rushed the blood in your veins,
Made you howl at the moon,
and dance in the sun.
But you threw my flowers on the ground and ran off to the garden across the field.
-the garden that you thought had more life, colors and beauty.
The flowers now sing a dirge when the wind whistles the air,
waiting for your face to show up again someday.

You were different.
You are different.
You could have been mine,
But as soon as the flowers bloomed...
As soon as the rain subsided,
The grass danced in the wind...
The birds sang their song...
You grew too.