He was cold.
Nothing ever satisfied him;
Nobody could make him happy.
His frigid attitude appealed to everyone,
And his face was pleasant
People loved the briskness of his speech and appearance.
He was fake nice;
Hopeless

Different he felt when he awoke,
one bleak morning
He liked different.
He smiled as he stared at his snow pale skin

He was a student teacher
Not on top of his list,
He sighed.
A shallow voice spoke, Sensei?
Gazing upon her face.
Her eyes glistening
To the dashing anarchist figure.

The figure
Beautiful as can be.
With fairylike black hair
And with a forge winsome
Smirk on her face.

If you're going to preach to me
Don't waste your time,
I don't have time for damn teachers!

Her plumb lips
And keen witted face
Expressed no joy
Whatsoever.

With a cold raw expression
He asked,
Why are you so angry?

Why should you care?
Her eyes melting
Every part of iciness
That was in him.

Her eyes glistening
Upon his face
Waiting for an answer.

His fabricated smirk
Turned into a spring tide smile.

I am just curious

Her eyes formed
Springy raindrops;
His heart melted.

He took her hand,
Leaving winter behind
Entering the vernal season.

Between seasons
He fell in love with her.
Her breeze
Touched every
Part of him;
He loved her.

He was the rigor winter;
She was the brisk spring

What becomes of snow after winter?
He asked his
Blackberry winter once.

Her plum lips forming
A bright decorous smile,
She answered
It becomes spring!