As Winter's angst becomes Spring's sweeter dreams,
the time for turtling is long gone, past.
Instead what's due are revelations, seems.
We'll own up to some hard truths, at long last.

Divorce our self from longings out of date.
Attachments that have never served us well.
The matters that have delayed better fate.
And whom, for which, there's no need still, to dwell.

Knowing what we now do unbinds the ties,
Of History's recalcitrance, to cut.
But when we give up on self-serving lies,
And finally we can escape the rut.

It never would have worked with her, that's true.
And owning that's not reason to feel blue.