How the ones from far up north and far down south

thought that sunshine was summer's exclusively.

Until I showed them, and told them using my mouth

that snow is what is seen elusively.

After winter's cold reign, spring takes over and gives life to death.

Marigolds and poppies bloom,

under the cherry blossom tree.

From the periwinkles and jasmines to the baby's breath

there's a wide range of flowers to smell and see.

They're given both sun and rain

while rainbows glow in the background.

That's why there's sunshine in spring so they can gain

all that they need to flourish and grow from the ground.

It's the season of rebirth, of the phoenix that rises from the snow.

Of the bunny that steals chocolate eggs, that is always on the go.

Of soft pink sunsets and warm gold sunrises,

of birds chirping and singing and of new life that arises.

Souls that glow are born into existence, and everything lives under the tree of life.

Swaying from side-to-side like wheat in a field together, with the squirrel with his children and wife.

Living through the season of life that came after the season of death awaiting the season of heat that will give way to the season of change.

How beautiful the seasons that make up the years are, yet how strange.

Such range, such range.

The sunshine that beams its way down from the sun

will one day become too scorching.

But for now, we're in spring so all is but fun,

but soon these poor plants and people will be burning.

∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎

ద ద 𖦊 ꪉ 𐀔 𐃸 ద 𖦊 ʊ

༒ ༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒ . . ༒

༒ ༒ ᜊ ༒ ༒ ༒

༒ ༒ ༒

༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒

༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒

ద ༒

༒ . ༒

༒ . . ᰔ

༒

༒