I live for the
Little Spring,
the refreshing twist,
the sun.
I live for the running,
the trickle,
and drip
of snow.
The heavy tug of
a sweater
tied around my waist.
Unprepared
for cold drying up
and wet
drip-
ping
on
my
head.
I breathe winter out
of my lungs
and suck down
Little Spring.
Hold the crispness
inside of me–
I love the
Little Spring.
But ice gathers
on the grasses,
pulls plants down by
their heads.
Softly comes
the Big Ol’ Winter,
away slips Little
Spring.