The melting snow is an old lady,
Tired, small, and gray.
Filled with memories of her children,
When there was little left of her, they all moved away.

She sits along the roads,
Gazing wearily and cold.
Wishing she could melt away
As the season grows old.

She grows smaller and thinner,
And thinks of better times.
The children rejoiced because of her,
When in the air, laughter constantly chimed.

But the good times are over,
And she knows it’s time to go.
She’s lonely, wet, and dirty,
And her memory stops its flow.

The old lady gives in,
She begins to melt away.
The kids suddenly notice her,
And beg for her to stay.


She goes slowly but surely,
Now just a filthy puddle, not snow.
But for every death there is new life,
And a flower begins to grow.