He is the first rainstorm
It’s April when he finally comes
to bring the grass back to life,
using simple kisses and light touches.
He is a rebirth after the cold winter.
He is the first firefly
On a warm July night
With a simple light glow
he reminds you of what it’s like
to be a little kid again
when all was well
He is the falling leafs
when October finally strikes.
The wind is frigid,
the colors are changing,
and so is he
He is not the same lush green he was in spring.
He is the first snowfall of winter.
Coming to take back what he birthed.
He has stripped away the green grass
He has killed the fireflies
He has swept up the leafs
He has taken everything.