Spring smile's at the winter winds,
The cold glare of winter recedes,
Grumpy in retreat,
Shrinking southward.
...
His fire is dying in the winds of approaching winter,
A familiar chill looms over his shoulder,
"The valley waits."
It seems to say.
...
So boots crunch pebbles along the path,
And harmonica tunes play louder,
His heart can't ache any longer,
Roaming.
...
And so he races toward,
Adventures,
Pancakes,
Tents near riverbanks,
Yearning arms,
And fur, still thick from winter growth.
...
"Moomin!"
The words exit hurriedly from his lips,
Faces blush,
"I've missed you Snufkin."
...
Snufkin's home is everywhere and nowhere,
Well,
Usually.
...
But right now,
It's in Moomin's arms,
Moomin's smile,
Moomin's kisses,
In Moomin's tears,
That he knows,
Are wishing right now,
Was forever.
...
Somehow the world stops spinning,
Because he isn't apart of the world right now,
He's on planet Moomin,
Wanting to linger on every aspect.
...
Right now,
He wants to feel Moomin against him,
As his head tilts in an awkward kiss,
And his lips trace the shape,
Of fur and soft mouth curves,
That outline happiness,
In just one smile.
...
He pulls back from Moomin,
Breathless,
With lips quivering,
In a gaping smile,
That always means,
"Spring is here."