Sunset of lace, clothed in burning red,  much cherished purveyor of spring.
Alluding sunshine's glowing grin bowing in attendance to springtime's morning glee.
The leaving winter shed no tears today, still the breeze, it was but a gentle stroke, chided cheeks with rose thorn scratch.
A white dove perched tentatively awaiting in potential peace,  it seemed to be in a bit of a tizzy.
It tangled itself in the hawthorn in bloom,  seeking escape from infernal gloom.
(C) LIVVI