Cold and white covers the trees, until the season says goodbye,
suddenly blooming and full of bees, white again covers the trees “sigh,”

yet this white is not cold, this white is not bold,
little shapes only known as flowers,
the flowers are blooming trying to stay with all their powers,

Once they have bloomed, they are only doomed,
rain trickles down, without a sound,
Most bloomed suddenly on the ground,
but still without a sound,

The smell of drops, a smell that you’ll never forget,
like sweeping puddles with mops, but the blooms you wish you’d met,

Big trees covered in white, but after rain the blooms are out of sight.