By spring’s birth I will disappear,
Till then and only then I’ll last,
Amidst thriving plants and trees and fears
Oh, what an ironic contrast.

It would scream “He is an artist!
And we should have loved him for it!”
And I would remain untarnished
When I life’s pains and joys outwit.

Truly, it is miraculous,
The content and sublimity
Reached choosing to be impious,
Resolved to anonymity.

The wind ceases, the snow subsides,
The sun shows its duplicitous face.
Time has come, now nature provides
Artistic end to this snide race.