You are called

The Blossom of Spring

Hiding behind the mask of youth

Your tempting virginity

Something precious in previous seasons,

Not to be squandered,

Kept it behind walls of the soul

It’s not something saved on a bank

It will not multiply

Yet with age it will wither too

Lose it’s value

Spring never grows old,

It erupts in the smoldering heat of the summer,

A needle in the haystack

Ah, Is it harvest time already!

Growing old,

Becoming cold.

Snow came early is told,

No one speaks of  yesterday’s flower

Yet curses tomorrow.

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