Life is spring to those who love it,
To those who coddle life, and show it:
Life, to them, is petaled roses
And bits of fresh, ephemeral proses.
Although each day may pass---though brief---
They cherish soft, unfurling leaves
And winds that pass with gentle sighs
And love that never wilts or dies.
Life to those who hate, is winter
'Tis death to that engaging sinner
And darkness, filled with lakes of frost
The tidal foam, the withered moss.
In every hour, minute, day
The thought is only wrapped on pain
Despair is deep, like snowy vales
That perish in the streaking hails.
To those who love, and loving, live
'Tis spring, a time to serve and give:
To those who hate, and hating, kill
'Tis winter, breaking heart and will.
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