it lingers yet, though its powers wane.
The air is chilled in one last breath.
What irony! as cold meets its death.
Winter cries tears of icy rain;
its sorrow clings to roofs in vain,
its mark binds to branch and tree -
what now remains is cold beauty.
The world is frozen once more,
and all is crystal ice like before.
It blooms white like flowers of cold,
alive but not, delicate yet bold.
The winds make it crackle and chime,
succumbing it at least to the cycles of time.
Spring gains strength while Winter has none.
Ice flowers melt as cold beauty is undone.
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