unraveling

Isn’t it beautiful?
Soil in your cuticles,
the sun ever so bright—
not one day does it forget to shine.

The visible dew,
the sky, oh so blue,
we call it spring.

The flowers bloom with a ding.
Without looking into it, it’s only a season,
yet something in me starts to soften, to weaken.

I’m not sure what made me tense before,
but it seeps away as I explore,
as if the earth itself began to sing—
the life-changing experience we call spring.

And in its warmth,
I feel my guarded heart unstring