SEASONAL LOVE

To love and not be loved back is like the musician playing the perfect melody only to have no ear hear it,
Or a leaf on the maple on a still autumn day,
Waiting for the wind to blow so he may be reunited with his other,
Only to have winter set in without a single breeze.
I would walk barefooted in the snow until I could walk no more,
To hold your hand and never let go,
But,
Like the violinist pushing his bow to its limits,
Strings can only be stretched so far.
The overture must make way for the aria
Otherwise, there would be no finale.
How large must this heart grow for that beat to be heard?
Will the conclusion be a solo beat or a harmonious duet?
Let spring melt the ice, let us see a lifetime of summers together.