Shy

Sleeting snowflakes melt be for me.
As a flame burns from one’s heart so warm.
For it might be winter at its coldest yet it is more like springs warmth that I feel.
Yet so afraid so not one word of this is said.
For not wanting to extinguish this delicate flame.
For not wanting to feel the cold of winter again to soon.  
Yet is it wrong to say nothing?
For maybe you feel the same spring warmth.
Yet you do not show unless it is just me unable to read the signs.
For even in such little of time.
For is it so that two strangers can meet somewhere and have so much in common.
And have a bond made yet still delicate still shaking so unsure of this spring in the middle of winter.
So careful footprints do I tread upon.  
For who knows how this will play out.  
Who knows what is yet to be said.