Till death us do part

What is love? I used to ask before I met you.

And then you arrived like the first soft snowflake touching a dying rose.

And the rose awakened at the scintilla,

however fleeting knowing there would be another spring.

And with the onset of spring the garden full of rebirth called to you,

but you had melted and morphed into something other than snow.

However, a rose is a rose, dead or alive and you understood,

walking towards a solitary flower, again and again,

letting the universe know, we will survive another winter.