(Poem) Moribund Frost

The leaves that have once fallen 
are reborn
from these skeletal limbs of wood and snow.
Light penetrates through the misty fog, showering
the graveyard of colorless flowerbeds. And slowly,
they grow. Slowly, they rise
towards the dawn of new spring.
The white, frosted grass regains viridescence,
and life, once again, begins.

But now, as the crystal tips melt
and the snow piles soften into small, weepy pools,
they get devoured by the thawing flora nearby.
As the greenery becomes lush and living,
the existence of these cold flurries that has once enveloped
this wintry home, once again, ends.

And as new life emerges from ice, another burns away.
And it creates a cycle that ironically always ends, a cycle
that makes me say—
goodbye… I will see you again
another time.