There’s something sweet and soothing in the ways
that I romanticize the haze
that forms, as soft rain falls on melting snow.

There’s something warm and hopeful in the air,
and for a moment I don’t care
how much farther winter thinks it has to go.

I know that spring will come again.
Right as rain. Right as rain.
Melting snow and rising fog.
Right as rain.

Something lovely in the way that the white melts into gray,
and the gray falls slowly, softly into white.
Their lines dissolve, they meld together.
All is right.

Right as rain. Right as rain.
Surely spring will come again.
Melting snow and rising fog.
All is right.

There’s form and geometry to it all.
Water will fall and rise and fall.
And it makes a perfect circle. All is right.

All is right. Right as rain.
Surely spring will come again.
Like a perfect, endless circle.
All is right.