april approaches, springtime encroaches.
to escape sharp rays of scorching sun, birds
flutter north, and find chapels, trees, porches
clothed head-to-toe in soft, puffy, fresh curds.
as night wanes, this shining armor defends
frail branches, risking life without a word
selflessly, its support and strength it lends
on roads, propelling cars smoothly it blends
with blinding brilliance, its light never ends.
as they bid farewell to their wintry friends,
salty snowflakes wetted the children’s eyes.
little did they know, the snow never ends.
a backwards world.