Oh, Summer,
Isn't it great how
you make people so
happy?
It must feel
wonderful.
All I do is
prepare them for
you and your
joy.

Yes, Spring,
I make people
happy, and yes,
that is very
important.
But without you,
they would not be
ready for my
sudden punch
of warmth and
it would hit them like
a truck.
So aren't you really the
more important one
here?

Oh, but I am but
the lonely whispers
of two conflicting times.
I am the last thoughts of
Winter, and I am just
hinting at your
arrival.
I say nothing
outright.
I am a coward, a lonely
star, and you are
the brave and
brilliant
sun.

My friend, if only
that was true.
I am welcomed at
first, but before long they
grow tired of me.
I am relentless, and
I desperately cling to
them in the hopes that
they will always
love
me.
Alas, my friend -
alas, it is not to be.
The tighter my
grip, the more they
wrest away from
me.
Praytell, Spring,
what is so
appealing about
Summer?

Your
your
your
your blithe
ignorance, I
suppose. Anything is
more appealing than
Spring.