It sits at the edge of reality,

Holding tight to the line drawn in white and black

And when the first drops of rain fall upon it,

Its fingers trembled and shake, their grip weakening.

It lifts its head and roars at the sky, stamping its feet,

Trying to frighten the inevitable change away.

But the sun beats on with its wings of heat,

And the ground continues to warm as the flowers bloom.

And soon all that's left are the memories,

Of when the trembling winter held sway.