just a poem

Dreary weather pulling at the edges of my sweater,
darker each day becomes until it seems they are all one.
Among the blanket of white a small splash of color,
bright and out of place, yet bold and daring,
day after day it grows, light from above hurries it along.
Blooms chase away the clouds giving way to
warmth that we soon will be complaining about
for we are never happy in the moment we are in.




refresh this at least 3 times and look at the last line