Once upon a time,
I felt cold breeze
whispering me something.
It was hard to decipher-
so, I thought to myself
“I must be imagining things again”.

It was summer,
the Sun was trying to burn my pale skin.
I was hiding,
still not crying.

Then, it was autumn.
It was my birthday.
My springtime.
When I get born again.
Only butterflies around me.

But, just when I would try to understand.
They would die.
All of them.

I still linger here.
Alone.
Confused.

How many seasons yet to pass,
For me to feel endless, everlasting grass.