march's door

march’s door what remains when seasonal flowers wilt and there is no chocolate left on your lips? it seems we have only the winter sky void of shooting stars or falling rain and it is cold when morning crawls out from the dark solitude of night i remember when laughter marinated and at days end it was rich and full but when i wonder what is left of the day i realize i can no longer hear the chatter of laughter nor smell the flowers or taste the chocolate there was no laughter after the flowers wilted and darkness fell like shutters on a cold window perhaps i will choose to die alone when march closes it’s heavy door snow will come and go taking the white to unknown places perhaps there I will taste the cold water I so long thirsted to know @ tolbert