• I am the third to last snowfall of the month,

the intricate snowflake on your tongue, the transition of longs nights into early mornings, and winter blossoming into spring.

I am the glowing embers in your fireplace, your cold, wooden floor in the morning, your crinkled footprints on the front porch, the icicles on your rooftop watching over you at night.

When winter's days were growing old, she turned to spring and spoke with such disdain, "You've planted flowers in my heart." and he smile and brought her golden days.