this too shall pass.
sooner or later, everything ends,
and the only thing you get to decide
is how much of yourself
will be bound up in that ending.

as winter lapses into spring,
i know my thoughts will turn to you.
you ought to have been a beginning:
something smooth and pretty,
a flower opening to the sunshine
or a wind just sweeping in from the south.

you too shall pass.
though here, in the winter of my discontent,
you are all power and ice and movement,
in a few months you will be gone
and i will be alive,
i will be wandering around a world
gone verdant with youth.