The sun set over the trees,

The tips of their canopies a bright orange,

The color of fall,

The impending winter.

The air was chilly,

She needed a sweater,

But her cheeks were never less rosy

Whenever you were around.

To her, the dead leaves were vibrant;

They were the color of the trees, the color of the sun.

They created a mosaic in her mind.

She made death seem beautiful.

You'd always say

Spring was her bringing the forest back to life,

And she started loving all of the seasons,

And she started loving you.

But the sunset made the trees orange only for so long.

The horizon grew pink and purple,

And she started seeing the decay,

The desolation of winter.

You wondered if you were wrong,

To tell her she was Spring.

She couldn't keep it alive,

So she'd cry as the sky turned dark.

And her cheeks grew less rosy around you,

The chilly air only leaving her numb.

In the winter, the sun set over the trees,

But the leaves were gone,

And the color didn't hold.

The spring never came,

At least not to you.

She'd succumbed to the elements,

And everything around you did too.