To look outside and see what we call an outsider,

Is seeing death among another for the very first time

Or to see the last leave falling from the autumn trees.

To see the tears that we cannot shed and those who feel the pain

That we cannot comprehend is as if we see

The first spring flower not blossom until May.

When I am so bundled in blankets, cozy and warm by a golden flame,

Out my window they are together in the bitter cold,

Crying tears of solid ice.

At last I run out of school with my friends and I see one boy alone.

I run right passed him and don’t think the he was one

Who has no one to go to for the summer.

But today I write, I wish I could be him,

And know how it truly feels to experience true love

For the seasons of life.