The Absence of Color

The dormant stage of beauty,
Where you can feel the piercing coldness,
Of nature’s loss of color;
As if it were sick,

The fresh-fallen snow intertwines
Within the weeping maple branches,
Where vibrant leaves once were.

The ice encases the glamour
Of the anticipated violets,
Erupting with color
And pungent with fragrance.

Remember that winter is not the death
Of nature’s color,
But it’s merely resting,
And will return with an unrelenting flourish,
Of every child of the rainbow.