Confetti
Weep not, poor winter, season most hated;
Season of death and despair, so despised.
Borne as a burden, brashly berated,
Annual martyr, yet ne'er canonized.
Man is made stronger through struggle and strife,
Sculpted by scars and then polished with pain.
Our woes are like water, needed for life;
Barren and dry is a world without rain.
So worry not, winter, stifle your cries,
Raise a great blizzard to temper my soul.
And though I may curse this yearly demise,
Know that you failed not to finish your goal.
With fabulous fervor the fine flakes fall,
As winter's cold confetti covers all.
Copyright © Timothy Yeager | Year Posted 2010
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