Here's to all
The pages they turned,
The trees they climbed,
The bridges they burned.
Although they restlessly orbit
As two wandering satellites may,
They will always return to the sensation of the sun
As it touches down upon the earth every mourning
As the dark sky fades gray,
And then to a gentle light.
They will always remember the gentle breeze
As it whispered irresistibly against their skin
--Beckoning--
Without making a sound.

The leaves fell softly;
The snow, not so much,
Reckless in its hot white rage,
But outside a small house
Beside a small abandoned swing set
Grew a single yellow flower
Enduring the heart of a death-filled winter.

From its place
Beside the small swing set
It was plucked by a young boy
With golden hair and tan skin;
A boy that gradually
Gradually
Instantaneously turn into nothing but a stranger.

Sticks and stones lay forgotten on the soft blanket of snow
Where later a fire would be conjured in defiance
Once--Twice--Three times
He looked around in silence
For the one he simultaneously admired
And took for granted.

Perhaps their story was foreshadowed
For after the boy smelled the struggling yellow flower
That had tried so hard
So desperately to remain untouched,
He found that its scent of beauty
Had long ago gone
And he cast the flower away
Into a pile of dirty snow
Where it lay
--Cold--
For the rest of its days.