The paleness of my face weighs onto the emptiness of your absence
No more is the summer
to be enchanted by yourself
The days for which I was
a flower that could bid your sunrise.
For a morning dew shower,
Before the dreary scorching sun of the day.
Yet I may have been more daring
To extend the fields upon which your presence thawed
From my mind. To my thoughts. And my heart.
A long stretch of gardens
Of violets and lilies...
birthed of your very humor.
Perhaps you were just a cloud
Bathing the sun just when it becomes sore
For until now had I asked
to what height must the gardens grow?
What grandeur must they possess to own every glimpse of your cloak?
Perhaps be reborn in the winters?
That, I have now more than sought.
To keep the fruits of my gardens supple.
So I thought.
My face gleamed in bright white winter snow
'A princess born of snow!' They marvelled.
Yet I am now reborn.
I skip through the trails of snow.
My lifeless sisters.
They can never bear the full sight of you.
Only your flickering presence of the dawn
and of the dusk.
It is enough for all of us.
And inside of me,
Although stiffened in cold,
the gardens gleamed with every rainbow ray.
Soon we will draw a welcome to the summer
And lo! The pity from my sisters.
A great price it was for the mere freshness of my gardens.
Will they ever bear the sight of their tender?
I swore not to waver upon the gloom of the whiteness
But it will soon be Summer
And as the rain falls from the sky and rises into the clouds
I shall too rise to your presence in the skies
In the company of my sisters.