Maius

Born from the gushing rain of Aprils departure.
The liquid of sad souls glistens against the window's pain.
Earth cries, as my terminal hope struggles to stay alive.
Violet gray clouds are glossed with morning light.
The sun in its relentless pursuit to prevail after the rains.
The dogwoods know the uncertainties of tomorrows.
The iris's know the incredulity of future days.
But they flaunt their beauty anyway.