Winter to Spring

It won't be long now,
Before that last sun sets,
On another lost winter,
That started with such high hopes.
It's not like we didn't try,
To pick up these pieces,
But our hands were no match for the snow and the wind.
Scattered pieces aren't nearly enough,
To complete this bigger picture,
So with the thaw comes more confusion,
When clarity and rebirth should reign.
Puddles are a reminder that the time is short,
And sooner or later the ground will be green again.
A new season comes as an old one goes,
And still, we have nothing to show for our time.
Our hands are perpetually empty.