Poem Of The Day #50
Birds start chirping early in the morning. Long time no see-- two or three months no hear of thee. Last week's rain, ice, windy chill, and the weekend's snow squall become a distant memory. Now we cheer spring in February -- 60 Fahrenheit, in Celsius, it's 15 degree. The grudges of last autumn have gone forgotten; the love of yesteryear faints away, only a trace remain. Acceptance here, rejection there; smile first, scold later; self control then, explosion now. Does it really matter? Oblivion eats all, except you. You are a ghost here-- your ridiculous staying power. It's all because I still believe that I could have won your love if I had tried. But I didn't. End of the story. Why can't I let go?