No Love In February

If it weren’t for those who brought me tears,
these grins wouldn’t be so wide; or
could this bitter snow have made me?

Nor would I be so wise, so subtle in disguise,
bringing so many their lost smiles,
if it weren’t for those who brought me tears.

All the drafty winters, barely luminous summers
at the small house above two hills;
could this bitter snow have made me?

The small school with the smaller playground
would be forgotten in time
if it weren’t for those who brought me tears.

And the green grasses faded
yellow, soon covered by white;
the bitter snow could have made me.

Yet I wonder how it would be,
becoming me
if it weren’t for those who brought me tears, or
Could this bitter snow have made me?