As autumn breathes on tarnished leaves, Wind's passion soon did fade.
Hot wind turned cool, and Pond, that fool, ignored the signs Wind made.
Pretending Wind would stay a friend, consistency Pond prayed
would warm the cold, restore the old hot games that they once played.

Pond found too late that patient wait was not a saving grace;
permitting frost to grow Pond lost, and ice grew in love's place.
A hard veneer, a crystal tear, now hides the Pond's wet face --
a shell, a crust, against cold gust, from winter Wind's embrace.

Should spring arrive and bring alive the passions Wind let go,
Pond would rejoice with splashing voice, and let the joy regrow.
But if it must, a new warm gust into Pond's life should blow,
then on that day, the two will play, despite predestined snow.