What is life without seeing through mine, is that something as divine?

Is it smooth and polished similar to a flower petal-

Or is it burdensome, or it’s like having a deferred income,

Perhaps it's the disturbance of seeing the flower settle 

No matter how healthy or elegant it starts to dwindle-

                                             Only I was more gentle…

While I hear the cheering, I stood there contemplating and fearing,

What to come, the future for me and the petal I adore-

We would both know what to come next, but in denial as we go

It begins to snow, but I would still love to witness us soar-

Snow becomes heavy, this is nothing to go uncared-for

                                           But it became nothing more...