There's snow that coats the wooden post---
It's melting..then, the melt is lost;
The sun with chipper steps proceeds
To gobble up the post with greed.
A robin sits upon the top
He sings a song and hops a hop
Then flies away, while left behind
A blossom lies beneath the sky.
The blossom's petals blow and show
The mirrored, waving growth below
What once was cold upon the post
Is purer, melted from the snow.