Porcelain Wings

When the world pushes away the notion that the frost is approaching once more,

Did it ever really exist in their eyes?

Did they experience it the same way that others did?

Were the bears, bundled in blubber,

And hiding away in hibernation,

As afraid as the butterflies,

Whose bodies and wings were burdened by the chill?

When it is easy for one to turn a blind eye to the suffering of others,

It is made simpler to deny that the adversities ever existed,

That they are resolved,

When the harsh truth is that they have just been buried,

Beneath the dirt and the snow.

But when the flowers grow,

They brought back to the surface and felt by the pollinators,

With pretty, porcelain wings,

Fluttering and flying with fear in their hearts,

And guilt for feeling so.