The grey sky of spring is a terrible thing for the wrath of its vengeance is unrelenting. Oh, the tears that she weep for the lives she will reap form the rivers and lakes and the vast oceans deep. Terrible! Horrible! You're ugly, lady spring. Killer of winter, exposing its dirty secrets, like a [bad word] peddler. They say you bring beauty and love, but all I've ever seen is your gray, weeping face, glaring with envy at summer. You are the mistress of bloated refuse in the gutter, leafless and lifeless wilting treas - naked and moist. The damp, cold that can't be stopped. Your fragance is that of corpses, Lady Spring. When it gets warmer the leaves bud, life returns. They say that's you, but I know it's just summer taking over. Summer is life, winter is death and autumn is the beautiful reaper. But you, you are something entirely else, Lady Spring. You are the void in which seasons rot. Neither of God nor the Devil. Too cowardly for Winters chill, too weak for Summers blaze. I said you are the killer of Winter, but that's wrong - Winter killed itself. You stand in the nothingness formed by the fading of the last season. I [bad word] hate you, Lady Spring.