The flowers are dead.
The leaves aren't crunchy anymore
They no longer make familiar sounds
When I step on them
Making my way through a crowd of people who never really knew me
The leaves are too wet from the snow to be any help to me.
And the frost will come and go
Leaving nothing but water in it's place.
The grass will grow back in some places
But others will stay dirt
not being able to find the strength to go through the cycle again.
And the birds will return to sing a joyful song
To those who will listen
But I will not
Because I know they will be gone in a matter of months
And why find happiness in things that leave you?
And soon after they leave everything else will follow
And the flowers will be dead.