Spring has come with its half-hearted blossoms
as you do with your pitiful deceit.
Are you as lonely since that afternoon,
that March day after unexpected snow?

False spring, they call it, insects trapped within
tightly woven cocoons. "Don't leave me here,"
their weak voices cry, fearing the outside.
"I'm going, never coming back," spring calls.

I rewind the clock, "Take us-- take me back"
to a time frozen by winter flurries,
a time unmasked by spears of icicles
before you existed in my lonesome life.

Look up as I rip through these silken seams,
once a protective nest, now fallen threads.