In the cradle of spring's gloating embrace,
Ephemeral petals drift, white lies upon green.
The frozen heart glimpses a age-old dance,
The ugliest truth wrapped in perfumed almanacs.
But in silence, whispers germinate...
The sterile frost smiles through the vines
Watered by stars that weep in shadowed time,
For what begins, ends in forgotten whispers,
Spring, a harsh gardener.
Tread lightly among unfurling lies,
Each bloom, a witness to winter's cruel jest,
The soil, a grave of undone promises.